FROM   THE  LIBRARY  OF 
REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.  D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY  OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


ii<£ks 


Swiss    Let 


ALPINE    PO 


BY   THE   LATE      f^/ 

FRANCES  RIDLEY  HAVERGAL 


EDITED    BY    HER    SISTER 

/    MIRIAM  dlANE 


NEW    YORK 
E.    P.    DUTTON    AND    COMPANY 

1882 


Press  of  St.  Johnlana 

J.  J.  Little  6r"  Co.,  Stereotype  Foundry, 

10  Astor  Place,  N.  V.  Suffolk  Co.,  N.  Y. 


PREFATORY  NOTE. 


The  world-wide  interest  excited  by  the  writings  of  my 
lamented  sister,  Frances  Ridley  Havergal,  has  led  her 
family  to  think  that  such  of  her  letters  as  I  have  been 
able  to  collect,  written  to  her  home  circle  from  Switzerland, 
will  be  acceptable  to  her  many  admirers. 

Some  will  feel  pleasure  in  mentally  revisiting  the  sublime 
scenery  she  describes  with  such  vigor  and  simplicity;  and 
others  will  be  interested  in  observing  how  unconsciously  these 
letters  illustrate  her  enthusiastic  nature,  her  practical  ability, 
and  her  ardent  desire  that  every  one  should  share  her  earthly 
pleasures  and  her  heavenly  aspirations. 

fANE  MIRIAM  CRANE. 

Oakhamptox,  xear  Stourport, 
October  20.  1881. 


CONTENTS. 


I.  Encyclical  Letter  in  1869,  during  a  tour  with 

HER   BROTHER-IN-LAW,    HENRY   CRANE,    HIS   WIFE, 
AND  DAUGHTER  MIRIAM   LOUISA     .  page   I-IOI 

Dover — Calais — Brussels — Obercassel — Bingen —  Heidelberg — Ba- 
den— Basle — Neuhausen — Rhine  Falls — Zurich — Berne — Thun — In- 
terlachen  —  Lauterbrunnen  —  Miirren  —  Grindel  wald  —  Giessbach  — ■ 
Meyringen — Rosenlaui — Briinig  Pass — Lucerne — The  Rigi — Altdorf 
—  Langnau — Fribourg — Vevey  —  Montreux — Glion — St.  Gingolph — ■ 
Novelles — Chillon — Bouveret — Gorge  du  Trient — Martigny — Tete 
Noire — Col  de  Balm — Chamouni — Pierre  a  1'  Echelle — La  Flegere 
— Montanvert — Mer  de  Glace — Mauvais  Pas — St.  Gervais — Geneva — 
Morges — Neuchatel — Dijon. 

II.  The  Mountain  Maidens        .       .       page  102-113 

III.  Nine  Letters  to  her  sister,  J.   M.  Crane,   in 

1 87 1,    DURING  A  TOUR  WITH    HER   FRIEND,    ELIZA- 
BETH Clay page  1 14-190 

Newhaven — Dieppe — Rouen — Paris — Belfort — Basle— 01  ten — Lu- 
cerne —  Altdorf —  Amsteg  —  Wasen  —  Geschenen — Andermatt — The 
Furca — Viesch — The  ^Eggischhorn — Bel  Alp — The  Sparrenhorn  — 
Zermatt— Visp— The  Riffel— The  Gorner  Grat— The  Hornlein— 
St.  Theodule — Chatillon — Aosta — Morgex — Courmayeur — Mont  de 
Saxe — Col  de  la  Scigne — Chapiu — Col  de  Bonhomme — Contamincs 


vi  CONTENTS. 

—  Col  de  Voza — Les  Ouches — Chamouni — The  Breven — La  Flegere 
— Argentiere — Col  de  Balm — Col  de  Trient — Martigny — Montreux — ■ 
Lausanne . 

IV.  My  Alpine  Staff page  191 

V.  Holiday  Work,   written  for  "  Woman's    Work" 

Magazine,  in  1873       .        .        .       page  192-207 

VI.  An  Alpine  Climber        .        .        .       page  208-210 

VII.  Seven  Letters  to  Mrs.  Havergal,  of  Leaming- 

ton, IN  1873,  DURING  A  TOUR  WITH  THE  REV.  C.  B. 
SNEPP,  HIS  WIFE,  AND  DAUGHTER  .  page  21 1-268 

Dover— Calais  —  Paris— Chalons-sur-Saone  —  Dole  —  Neuchatel  — 
Berne — Lucerne — The  Rigi — Fluellen — Alpnacht — Briinig  Pass — 
Meyringen — Interlachen — Giessbach — The  Scheinige  Platte — Grin- 
delwald — Lauterbrunnen — Murren — The  Schilthorn — Thun — Berne 
— Geneva — Chamouni — Montanvert — Mer  de  Glace — Mauvais  Pas — 
Col  de  Voza — Les  Grands  Mulets — La  Tour — Col  de  Balm — Tete 
Noire — Gorge  du  Trient — Geneva. 

VIII.  July  on  the  Mountains   .        .        .       page  269 

IX.  Three  Letters  from  a  series  (nine  of  which 

ARE  MISSING)  TO  MRS.  HAVERGAL,  IN  1 874,  DUR- 
ING A  TOUR  CHIEFLY  WITH  HER  NIECE,  CON- 
STANCE S.  Crane  ....        page  270-302 

The  Faulhorn — Ormont  Dessus — Saanen — Col  de  Pillon— Chateau 
D'Oex — Gorge  de  la  Tine — Montbovon — Allieres — Col  de  Jaman— 
Montreux — Sex  Rouge — Auvernier — Pontarlier — Dole — Dijon — Paris. 

X.  Golden  Land page  303 


CONTENTS.  vil 

XI.  Our   Swiss  Guide,   written   for   the   "Sunday 

Magazine"  IN  1874        .         .         .        page  304-318 

XII.  A  Song  in  the  Night  .       .       .       page  319-320 

XIII.  Memoranda,  by  Maria  V.  G.  Havergal,  of  a  Tour 

IN  1876  WITH  HER  SISTER,  F.  R.  H.        page  32I-351 

Newhaven — Dieppe — Lausanne — Montreux — Vernayaz — Finshauts 
Argentiere — Martigny — Orsiere — Hospice  of  St.  Bernard — Orsiere — 
Martigny  —  Champery  —  Berne  —  Interlachen  —  SchOnfels  —  Pension 
Wengen — Interlachen — Basle — Strasbourg — Brussels. 

XIV.  The  Voice  of  Many  Waters    .       page  352-356 


SWISS    LETTERS, 
i. 

ENCYCLICAL    LETTER, 
Specially  for  the  benefit  of  Maria,  Ellen,  and  Frank. 


May  31,   1869. 

After  raining  and  roaring  all  Friday,  and  nearly 
all  Saturday,  the  weather  smiled  out  on  Sunday, 
and  promised  for  a  beautiful  passage  on  Monday, 
so  we  started  from  Dover  this  morning  in  good 
spirits.  I  have  no  notion  of  waiting  till  I  am 
too  ill  to  stir,  before  making  myself  comfortable; 
so  I  made  a  regular  nest  in  the  lee  of  a  deck 
cabin  with  a  shawl  for  a  mattress,  carpet  bag  for 
pillow,  pile  of  tarpaulin  for  back  rest,  hat  off, 
and  cape  of  waterproof  over  my  head  and  pinned 
under  my  chin  in  sister-of-mercy-looking  style. 
Then  I  lay  down,  and  as  rain  seemed  imminent 
was   covered  with   a   tarpaulin   all   but  my  nose. 


2  SWISS   LETTERS. 

"You  will  be  walked  over,  Fanny,"  says  M.  L.  C; 
"you  don't  look  like  a  human  being!"  H.  C.  did 
not  look  much  more  like  one  I  opined,  for  he 
was  cased  in  a  tarpaulin  coat  down  to  his  heels, 
with  a  hood  which  stuck  up  in  two  stiff  points, 
leaving  little  of  his  physiognomy  visible  but  his 
venerable  beard. 

So  we  joked  each  other  for  the  first  half  hour, 
which  was  in  all  senses  smooth  sailing;  then  sleep 
was  suggested;  then  kind  inquiries  <were  ex- 
changed; after  that,  silence;  after  that,  well,  we 
won't  talk  about  it,  as  it  does  not  belong  to  the 
pleasures  of  memory. 

Poor  J.  M.  C. !  "Is  that  lady  going  to  die  ? " 
asks  H.  C.  of  the  steward. 

"Oh  dear  no,  sir;  not  yet  awhile,"  says  he; 
"but  you'd  much  better  have  all  sat  still  up  here." 

"In  ten  minutes,  sir,"  says  the  steward.  That 
keeps  up  our  spirits;  sea  trials  can  be  borne  that 
long.  But  a  quarter  of  an  hour  passes,  and  we  ask 
again.  "  Not  much  longer  now,  sir;  ten  minutes 
or  so  will  take  us  in."  So  we  get  unbelieving  and 
give  up  asking.  At  last  we  are  in,  and  happier  in 
mind  and  body,  rather  ! 

A  most  uninteresting  rail  ride,  leaving  Calais 
i.i 5,  arriving  at  Brussels  6.30.  Hotel  de  l'Europe, 
in  Place  Royale.  Table  d'hote  speedily,  at  which 
we  chattered  with  a  Swiss  gentleman,  who  "could 


DOVER    TO    BRUSSELS.  3 

afford  to  be  generous,"  as  M.  said,  and  praised 
the  Rhine  astonishingly,  far  more  than  I  could, 
who  have  only  Scotland  to  compare  it  with. 

After  this,  the  lady  who  was  "  going  to  die  "  in 
the  morning  proposed  going  out  to  see  what  could 
be  seen  in  the  lovely  evening  light;  so  the  three 
went,  and  I  stayed  to  rest.  For  this  piece  of 
prudence  I  had  a  reward.  Very  soon  a  pleasant 
Belgian  maid  came  in,  with  her  white  frilled  cap 
tied  under  her  chin.  She  asked  if  I  was  not  well, 
seeing  me  on  the  sofa.  I  explained  that  I  had 
had  a  long  journey  from  England.  She  asked  how 
it  was  that  England  was  all  surrounded  by  water; 
she  had  heard  so,  but  could  never  understand  it. 
My  explanation  led  on  to  more  talk,  and  she  told 
me  of  a  fearful  illness  she  had  last  year  when  "la 
maladie  "  was  raging  in  Brussels.  This  was  a  nice 
opportunity  to  speak  of  Him  who  "healeth  all  our 
diseases."  She  seemed  thoughtful,  and  so  inter- 
ested that  she  stayed  talking  half  an  hour.  She 
told  me  how  near  death  she  had  been;  she  did 
not  know  it  at  the  time,  but  when  she  had  since 
thought  of  it,  "that  one  must  die,  and  all  alone, — " 
and  she  finished  the  sentence  with  a  most  expres- 
sive shuddering  gesture.  Evidently  she  felt  the 
ceremonies  of  her  Church  were  not  enough  to  give 
peace  in  death,  nor  in  life  either;  for  when  I 
appealed  to  the  feeling  certain  to  exist  even  if 


4  SWISS   LETTERS. 

denied,  that  the  heart  is  not  filled,  that  it  has  a 
craving  for  something  that  is  always  at  the  bottom 
unsatisfied,  even  when  things  are  smoothest  and 
brightest,  she  looked  almost  startled  at  hearing 
her  feeling  put  into  words,  and  said  most  sadly 
and  earnestly:  "Mais  oui,  mais  oui,  mademoiselle, 
mais  cest  vrai,  cela!"  She  promised  me  that  she 
would  pray  for  the  Holy  Spirit.  Poor  girl  !  she 
will  have  no  earthly  teacher.  After  she  was  gone 
I  marked  all  I  most  wanted  her  to  notice  in  a 
French  St.  John's  Gospel,  and  gave  it  her  next 
morning.  She  seemed  pleased,  and  promised  to 
read  it.  In  marking  it  I  was  struck  with  what  I 
have  so  often  felt,  viz.,  that  when  one  reads  any 
part  of  the  Bible  with  anything  special  in  view,  it 
is  wonderful  how  much  seems  to  bear  on  the 
particular  subject,  as  if  written  on  purpose.  So  it 
was  that  every  chapter  seemed  full  of  just  the 
very  teaching  poor  Victorine  needed,  the  satisfied 
thirst,  the  promise  of  eternal  life,  the  teaching  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  and  all  through  "  Jesus  only," 
all  pointing  to  Him  and  to  none  other  for  peace 
and  salvation. 

June  i.    From  Brussels  to  Obercassel. 

We  had  no  sunshine  for  the  lovely  Verdre  valley, 
but  the  evening  was  exquisite.  H.  C.  and  the 
others  stayed  to  see  Aix  and  Cologne,  while  I  went 


OBERCASSEL.  5 

on  to  see  Fraulein  Kramer,  at  Bonn,  where  papa 
stayed  the  winter.  They  were  heartily  delighted 
to  see  any  one  who  could  bring  news  of  him,  "the 
best  man  in  the-  whole  world,  so  through  and 
through  good,  who  had  left  a  blessing  which  had 
rested  on  their  house  ever  since."  Then  I  walked 
down  to  the  Rhine;  the  stream  was  very  full  and 
strong,  and  the  coloring  vivid  as  we  left  Bonn; 
the  Rhine  a  delicate  silver  blue,  the  east  bank 
golden  green,  houses  and  walls  almost  scarlet  in 
the  evening  glow;  then  beyond  the  low  sunny 
shore  rose  the  Seven  Mountains  in  deep  cloud 
shadow,  soft  dark  blue  sharply  outlined  against 
the  pale  clear  sky.  As  we  neared  Obercassel,  the 
red  rocks  of  the  Rabenlei  caught  the  last  of  the 
sunshine. 

The  pastor  was  waiting  for  me,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  I  was  besieged  by  eight  of  his  olive 
branches  (by  way  of  mixing  up  peace  and  war  !). 
I  went  to  bed  at  ten  but  we  had  talk  enough  to 
fill  a  book,  so  as  I  cannot  record  all,  I  shall  record 
none. 

June  2.    Obercassel. 

Of  course  I  have  had  the  whole  history  of  the 
war  from  a  Prussian  point  of  view.*     The  gist  of 

*  This  was  the  Austro-Prussian  war  of  1866,  which  terminated  at 
Sadowa. 


6  SWISS   LETTERS. 

it  is  that  Prussia  had  no  alternative  but  to  allow 
itself  to  be  put  upon  and  sink,  or  to  put  upon  others, 
and  rise,  and  that  it  was  only  natural  to  choose 
the  latter.  Denmark  was  a  naughty  obstinate 
child,  which  must  be  punished;  Hanover,  ditto. 
Pastor  S.  says  that  all  the  strength  and  patriotism 
of  Prussia  lies  in  its  Protestantism;  that  the 
Catholics  are  an  absolute  drag  upon  both,  sym- 
pathizing openly  when  they  dare,  but  secretly  al- 
ways and  everywhere,   with  Austria. 

In  the  afternoon  we  drove  to  Heisterbach,  a 
lovely  ruined  apse  of  a  monastery  in  a  little  glen 
on  the  south  side  of  the  Seven  Mountains.  It  was 
quite  warm  enough  for  the  usual  German  plan  of 
taking  coffee  under  the  trees.  Here  we  had  a  talk 
over  church  matters.  The  pastor's  impression  is 
that  the  great  rationalistic  vein  is  being  rapidly 
worked  through  in  Germany,  and  that  the  ferment 
is  nearly  over;  that  in  this  respect  the  English 
are  a  few  years  behind,  and  are  now  giving  more 
weight  to  German  theology  than  the  Germans 
themselves  are  doing.  Then  we  had  a  stroll 
through  the  beech  woods,  poor  Theodor  keeping 
up  with  us  on  his  crutches.  He  has  had  a  year  of 
terrible  suffering,  ending  in  amputation;  he  is  ex- 
pecting his  new  leg  this  week,  and  hopes  to  return 
to  the  university  in  the  autumn.  He  is  a  first 
rate  student-specimen,  full  of  fun,  and  no  end  of 


OBEKCASSEL.  7 

snatches  of  all  sorts  of  songs  apropos  of  everything-, 
yet  with  abundance  of  talent  and  sense  and  feeling 
beneath  it.  His  father  read  me  a  touchingly 
beautiful  little  poem  which  he  had  written  on  his 
last  birthday  in  the  midst  of  his  suffering.* 

The  girls  sing  all  day  long,  with  various  fraternal 
accompaniments.  I  heard  Agnes  singing  simply 
magnificently,  and  on  going  to  her  found  her 
preparing  some  young  potatoes  in  a  basin  on  her 
lap  all  the  time,  while  Theodor  was  playing  for 
her  !  It  was  characteristic.  She  sings  very  like 
Sarah  Conolly,  and  with  great  spirit  and  expres- 
sion. My  godchild,  Adelheid,  has  not  yet  had 
lessons,  but  sings  numbers  of  duets  and  trios  very 
nicely. 

After  supper  the  pastor  read  us  "  Otto  von 
Schiitz,"  a  Rhine  poem  by  Kinkel.  We  worked, 
and  Theodor,  Paul,  and  Franz  sat  in  great  delight, 
listening  to  their  favorite  poet.  These  young 
Schulzeberges  all  follow  their  father's  tastes,  and 
enter  into  everything  poetical,  musical,  and  intel- 
lectual, most  eagerly.  They  are  exceedingly 
attached  to  each  other  and  to  home;  in  this 
respect  they  are  a  perfectly  ideal  family.  Agnes 
told  me  that  Hermann's  distress  at  spending  his 

*  Dear  Theodor  fell  asleep  in  Jesus  after  several  weeks'  great 
lufiering,  in  January   1870. 


i 

i  , 

'Jr 

_i  — i  _u 

^d — 

ifo 

g»  -i  ,d  ^ 

-s>-^— - 

yu^. 

8  SWISS    LETTERS. 

first  Christmas  away  from  home  was  something 
grievous,  and  Paul  is  already  dreading  his  own 
possible  absence  next  Christmas. 

June  3.     Obercassel  TO  BlXGEN. 

Coffee  at  7.30,  then  the  household  assembled 
for  prayers.  First  we  sang  my  favorite  chorale 
of  years  ago,  "  Ach,  bleib  mit  deiner  Gnade"; 
then  all  sit  with  folded 
hands  and  slightly  bent 
heads  while  the  pastor 
reads  a  verse  or  two  and  a  short  comment, 
something  like  Bogatzky.  This  is  generally  all, 
only  on  special  occasions,  birthdays  or  festivals, 
is  it  followed  by  prayer.  But  this  morning  the 
pastor  closed  the  book  and  folded  his  hands 
and  prayed;  we  all  remain  sitting,  only  the 
head  is  bent  a  little  lower  and  the  eyes  closed. 
Such  a  sweet,  loving,  earnest  prayer  it  was,  spe- 
cially asking  abundant  blessing  both  for  the 
present  journey  and  for  the  whole  journey  of 
life,  "  for  her  who  has  again  filled  our  house  with 
grateful  joy":  these  dear  Schulzeberges  are  one 
and  all  most  loving  and  kind.  Then  we  all  went 
down  to  the  Rhine  to  meet  the  boat  coming  up 
from  Bonn.  The  pastor,  Agnes,  and  Adelheid 
came  with  us  to  Konigswinter,  to  make  acquaint- 
ance with  the  rest  of  our  party. 


OBEKCASSEL    TO    BIN  GEN.  9 

It  promised  well  for  a  fine  day,  the  sun  shining 
through  a  soft  mist  that  suggested  more  beauty 
than  it  hid.  But  that  only  lasted  till  we  had 
passed  the  Seven  Mountains,  and  the  rest  of  the 
day  was  grey,  so  that  we  had  only  form  and  not 
color;  the  difference  between  this  and  my  last 
view  of  the  Rhine  was  just  that  between  an  en- 
graving and  a  painting. 

There  were  very  few  people  on  board,  the  sea- 
son has  been  late  and  cold.  We  got  into  talk  with 
a  most  queer  looking,  keen  eyed,  elderly  man,  who 
spoke  English  with  a  strong  strange  accent.  .He 
was  German,  but  had  lived  many  years  in  Lon- 
don, and  was  going  for  a  holiday  to  Frankfort. 
He  seemed  to  know  "all  about  everything,"  and 
was  an  odd  mixture  of  shabbiness  and  gentleman- 
liness.  Presently  he  brought  his  daughter,  and 
introduced  her,  I  think  with  a  little  pride.  Oh 
such  eyes  !  neither  English  nor  German,  dark,  soft, 
beautiful,  a  perfect  picture.  She  was  very  quiet 
and  retiring,  all  the  more  fascinating  on  that  ac- 
count, with  a  gentle,  sad  expression,  lighting  up 
when  she  spoke  into  a  very  sweet  smile.  We 
decided  they  must  be  Jews;  and  later  in  the  day, 
when  better  acquainted,  I  asked  her  if  it  were 
so,  and  was  almost  sorry  I  did,  for  she  colored 
deeply  and  answered  "Yes!"  in  a  shy,  reluctant 
tone.    So  I  made  haste  to  tell  her  what  an  interest 


10  SWISS   LETTERS. 

it  was  to  me  to  find  that  she  was  of  that  noble 
race,  and  said  I  could  wish  that  I  too  were  of 
Jewish  blood  !  That  seemed  not  only  to  relieve, 
but  to  astonish  both  her  and  her  father;  and  he 
said,  in  a  bitter  tone,  "  You  stand  alone;  other 
Christians  feel  very  differently  towards  us."  Then 
we  had  a  long  talk  in  German.  He  said  he 
honored  Jesus  of  Nazareth:  "  He  was  a  wonderful 
man,  and  a  very  beautiful  character,  and  had 
wrought  a  wonderful  work  in  the  world  through 
His  marvellous  insight  into  human  nature  and 
adaptation  of  His  teaching  to  the  times.  But  as 
for  His  being  God ! "  and  he  finished  the  sentence 
with  just  a  look,  which  spoke  more  contempt  for 
the  idea  than  words  could  have  done.  I  replied 
that  I  saw  no  alternative  between  His  being  all 
that  He  claimed  to  be,  that  is  God,  and  being  a 
liar  and  impostor.  We  argued  frankly  for  some 
time,  and  not  at  all  unpleasantly;  he  was  quite 
willing  to  listen  fairly,  and  never  replied  cap- 
tiously. The  girl  was  listening  with  her  soft,  sad 
eyes,  so  I  broke  away  from  argument  and  spoke 
to  the  hard  old  Jew  what  I  wanted  her  to  hear, 
just  about  the  love,  and  tenderness,  and  sym- 
pathy, and  all-sufficiency  of  Jesus,  tried  simply 
to  carry  out: 

"  Tell  them  what  you  know  is  true, 
Tell  them  what  He  is  to  you !  " 


OBERCASSEL    TO    BINGEN.  II 

Afterwards  the  old  fellow  was  very  anxious  that 
I  should  come  to  Frankfort.  I  was  "a  friend  of 
Jews,"  and  as  such  would  be  heartily  welcomed  by 
himself  and  his  friends,  and  he  would  like  to  show 
us  all  he  could,  especially  of  the  Jews'  quarter. 
As  we  were  not  going  there,  he  gave  me  his 
London  address,  and  a  most  cordial  invitation  to 
call  if  I  possibly  could. 

We  also  made  acquaintance  with  a  German- 
American,  "  travelling  scientifically,"  and  a  Prus- 
sian soldier  with  a  Koniggratz  medal,  overflowing 
with  national  pride. 

The  vineyards  rather  spoil  than  improve  the 
scenery  at  this  season,  they  are  in  the  potato 
garden  stage.  Still  the  Rhine  is  the  Rhine,  and  it 
is  very  lovely  even  under  a  dull  sky.  As  we  came 
on  shore  at  Bingen,  about  forty  schoolgirls  went 
on  board  and  instantly  formed  on  deck  and  struck 
up  "Am  Rhein,"  the  very  pretty  Rhine  song,  sing- 
ing it  right  well  in  three  parts. 

Oh  the  luxury  of  sitting  out  in  the  hotel  garden 
to  write  !  We  are  close  to  the  river,  and  the  gar- 
den is  full  of  roses,  and  has  a  long  terrace  entirely 
arched  over  with  green;  it  is  so  delicious  to  sit  here 
and  rest,  and  not  be  in  a  town  !  I  have  (with 
permission)  gathered  splendid  roses  and  white 
syringa,  just  for  the  pleasure  of  gathering  them. 
H.  C.  and  the  M.'s  are  gone  to  the  vineyards. 


12  SWISS   LETTERS. 

June  4.      BlNGEN   TO   HEIDELBERG. 

We  have  come  into  full  summer  at  once,  a  hazy 
heat,  just  relieved  by  an  occasional  light  rivet 
breeze.  ■  After  breakfast  we  went  up  to  the  Burg 
Klopp,  a  scrap  of  a  ruined  castle  commanding  a 
grand  view  of  the  Rhine  valley.  M.  sketched,  and 
we  loitered  about  and  enjoyed  ourselves;  then  we 
came  down  into  the  town,  and  hearing  music  went 
into  a  church.  It  was  the  Feast  of  the  Heart 
of  Jesus,  and  there  had  been  high  mass  early,  and 
now  service  again  at  10.30.  A  fine  solemn  chorale 
was  being  sung,  the  congregation  joining  lustily. 
Oleander  trees  were  set  down  each  side  of  the 
church,  and  the  whole  altar  end  was  decorated 
with  flowers,  both  growing  and  gathered.  While 
we  stood  just  inside,  relays  of  children,  led  by  un- 
commonly pleasant-looking  sisters  of  mercy,  came 
in,  dipping  in  the  holy  water  and  crossing  them- 
selves as  they  passed.  One  lot  of  toddling  wee 
things  could  hardly  reach  the  holy  water,  so  the 
sceur  made  a  dash  at  it  and  sprinkled  it  over  them 
all,  and  hurried  them  in,  cutting  the  ceremony 
short. 

We  left  Bingen  at  12.20.  The  rail  to  Mayence 
is  not  striking,  but  one  gets  some  nice  peeps  of  the 
river.  At  Darmstadt  we  had  half  an  hour  to  wait, 
so  ran  into  the  town,  which  is  cheerful  and  pretty, 


BINGEN   TO    HEIDELBERG.  1 3 

with  wide  streets  and  wonderfully  long  avenues. 
We  passed  a  guard-house,  so  H.  C.  walked  up  to 
the  soldiers  and  began  making  signs  and  talking 
English  to  them  to  their  great  amusement,  till  I 
came  up  to  interpret.  We  asked  if  their  helmets 
were  not  very  hot  and  heavy,  so  one  instantly  took 
his  off  and  handed  it  to  him  with  great  politeness, 
and  another  or  two  had  medals  to  show.  We  had 
just  time  to  see  the  Grand  Ducal  Palace,  which 
looks  like  a  great  hotel,  and  then  got  back  to  the 
train.  The  rail  to  Heidelberg  is  extremely  pretty, 
running  under  the  range  of  hills  which  bound  the 
Odenwald.  To-day  the  sun  added  all  its  charm  to 
the  green  and  gold  and  shadow  on  the  wooded 
heights  and  tempting  ravines  which  broke  the 
range  at  intervals.  At  the  entrance  of  these  val- 
leys a  picturesque  village  generally  lay,  with  gar- 
dens and  gable  and  a  church  tower  all  complete. 
At  Heidelberg  we  put  up  at  the  Prince  Charles. 
Being  much  too  late  for  table  d'hote  we  had  to 
dine  separately.  M.  left  dinner  ordering  to  us. 
H.  C.  would  not  say  what  he  would  like,  so  I  told 
the  waiter  we  wanted  "dinner"  and  to  bring  any- 
thing, whatever  they  happened  to  have.  So  in 
about  three  quarters  of  an  hour  we  sat  down 
and  dinner  began.  When  it  would  have  ended 
I  don't  know;  but  after  having  soup,  salmon, 
roast  beef,  tongue,  cutlets,  and  a  queer  prepa- 


14  SWISS    LETTERS. 

ration  of  duck  and  olives,  we  thought  we  had 
had  enough,  and  declined  with  thanks  the 
couple  of  fowls  we  were  to  have  eaten,  and  the 
salad  and  stewed  cherries,  and  ditto  three  remain- 
ing courses.  The  waiter  was  afraid  we  were  not 
pleased,  but  we  explained  to  him  that  our  capa- 
bilities were  not  unlimited;  he  said  some  English 
were  not  satisfied  when  they  had  gone  through 
the  whole  menu !  I  shall  not  hear  the  last  of 
this  dinner;  when  they  want  to  do  it  in  style, 
"  F.  shall  order," — they  will  say. 

We  had  an  evening  stroll  over  the  bridge  and 
along  the  Neckar,  not  far,  for  we  were  tired,  and 
M.  L.  and  I  go  upstairs  at  8.30,  and  potter  about 
and  write  our  journals. 

June   5.    Heidelberg. 

A  most  delightful  morning,  spent  at  the  castle. 
The  way  up  is  steep  enough,  but  all  overhung 
with  green,  which  would  beguile  any  ascent  for 
me.  The  castle  has  a  rich  sunny  look,  being 
built  of  red  stone,  which  is  warm  and  full  of  color 
without  the  least  brickish  effect.  It  was  altogeth- 
er beyond  my  expectations,  whether  as  to  extent, 
beauty  of  detail  or  of  whole,  or  as  to  the  lovely 
situation.  It  is  a  perfect  combination  of  far  and 
near,  the  splendid  ruins  and  luxuriant  foliage 
close  at  hand,  the  quaint  town  below  with  river 


HEIDELBERG.  1 5 

and  bridge,  the  vineyards  and  wooded  heights 
opposite,  the  Neckar  valley  with  its  sharp  turns 
soon  closing  the  view  to  the  east,  and  then  the  wide 
reach  of  plain  to  the  west,  green  softening  into 
blue  distance  and  bounded  by  the  dimmest  grey 
outline  where  the  mountains  of  France  are  hinted. 
We  sauntered  about  ad  libitum,  and  simply  en- 
joyed ourselves;  tonics  and  salvolatile  are  nothing 
to  lying  under  a  tree  with  nothing  to  disturb  one 
but  birds  and  pretty  beetles,  and  knowing  that 
there  is  absolutely  nothing  to  do  for  the  next 
two  hours  but  look  at  the  green  and  the  blue 
around  and  above.  In  the  afternoon  M.  was 
done  for  and  decided  not  to  stir;  so  H.  C.  took 
M.  L.  and  myself  in  a  carriage  up  the  valley  of 
the  Neckar  among  lovely  wooded  hills,  reaches 
of  cornfields,  steep  red  rocks  quarried  here  and 
there,  and  the  river  constantly  winding  and  form- 
ing new  pictures.  We  went  past  Neckargemund 
to  Neckarsteinach,  where  while  the  horses  were 
watered  we  did  the  correct  thing,  and  took  coffee 
in  the  garden  overlooking  the  river,  for  which  we 
paid  twopence  each !  I  asked  the  driver  many 
questions,  and  he  was  civil  and  communicative, 
and  recommended  an  excursion  to  Schonan  to- 
morrow. I  said  "No,  not  to-morrow!"  "Ah, 
yes,"  he  said,  "  I  had  forgotten,  you  are  English, 
and  the  English  do  not  go  excursions  on  Sun- 


1 6  SWISS   LETTERS. 

days."     I  was  glad  to  hear  that  this  is  an  under- 
stood thing. 

Of  all  the  noisy  places  I  ever  was  in,  this  is  the 
worst.  Certainly  till  two  a.m.  the  natives  kept  up 
chattering,  whistling,  shouting,  and  singing,  and 
when  I  looked  out  at  five  a.m.  the  market  place 
was  all  in  a  buzz,  and  buying  and  selling  had  begun 
again.  "Do  the  Germans  ever  go  to  bed  at  all?" 
I  said.  "  Some  of  them  do  I  think,"  said  H.  C. 
very  gravely  and  rather  doubtfully. 

June  6.    Sunday  at  Heidelberg. 

At  nine  a.m.  I  went  to  German  service  in  the 
large  church  close  by  the  Prince  Charles.  The 
Catholics  have  the  choir,  and  the  Protestants  the 
nave;  but  there  is  a  division  between  the  two,  so 
that  it  is  almost  the  same  as  separate  churches. 
The  sermon  was  from  the  gospel  for  the  day, 
"  And  they  all  with  one  consent  began  to  make 
excuse";  it  was  not  remarkable.  But  the  singing  ! 
When  after  a  short  prelude  the  first  chorale  burst 
out,  it  went  through  me,  and  I  only  wished  all 
my  Leamington  friends  could  have  been  there  to 
hear:  dignified,  solemn,  grand,  massive,  the  very 
antipodes  of  some  of  the  flimsy  rattling  church 
music  at  home.  It  was  just  the  difference  be- 
tween a  cheap  ball  dress  and  coronation  robes, 
or  better,  a  musical  embodiment  of  the   mighty 


SUNDAY  AT  HEIDELBERG.  17 

world-upheaving  Reformation  as  compared  with 
the  effervescence  of  a  revival  in  its  least  hope- 
ful form.  The  organ  is  played  full,  and  all 
sing,  so  it  is  very  slow,  and  a  gallop  would  be 
impossible;  but  then  each  chord  is  so  rich  and 
perfect  that  the  ear  requires  time  to  enjoy  it,  and 
the  general  effect  is  most  elevating,  the  very 
majesty  of  praise.  I  can  hardly  imagine  what  my 
German  friends  would  say  if  they  heard  the  Te 
Deum  raced  through,  presto,  to  the  tune  of  "The 
heavens  are  telling,"  the  utter  barbarians  they 
would  think  us,  and  the  profanity  it  would  appear 
to  them  ! 

It  was  very  hot  in  the  afternoon,  and  M.  L.  and 
I  found  a  quiet  corner  in  the  castle  grounds,  where 
we  rested  a  long  while  and  enjoyed  being  away 
from  the  clatter  of  Heidelberg,  where  we  shall 
never  recommend  any  one  to  take  a  rest. 

We  went  to  the  one  o'clock  table  d'hote,  and 
speculated  as  to  what  Maria  would  have  done  ! 
For  had  we  dined  apart  it  would  have  made  extra 
work,  and  yet  the  table  d'hote  was  as  un-Sunday 
an  affair  as  possible,  with  a  band  playing  most  of 
the  time  in  very  good  style,  beginning  with  the 
overture  to  "  Tancredi"  !  A  little  girl  came  round 
with  flowers,  a  young  gentleman  sitting  next  M.  L. 
took  a  tiny  bouquet  of  roses  and  pinks  and  laid 
it  by  her  plate.     He  did  not  speak  English,  and 


1 8  SWISS   LETTERS. 

\ye  had  quite  a  talk  in  German.  He  was  of  Italian 
parentage  (though  of  German  abode),  and  had  all 
the  proper  accompaniments  of  dark  handsome 
eyes,  musical  voice,  and  courteous  manners.  He 
wanted  to  arrange  some  excursion  for  us  in  the 
evening,  but  yielded  politely  at  once  when  we  de- 
clined. Presently  he  offered  me  his  card,  "  Romeo 
Ghezzi  " ;  I  had  not  mine  at  hand,  but  what  did 
much  better,  my  Leaflets.  So  I  chose  out  "To 
whom,  O  Saviour,  shall  Ave  go !  "  and  gave  it  him, 
saying  that  was  my  card,  having  ascertained  that 
he  could  read,  though  not  speak  English.  He 
read  it  slowly  all  through,  asking  me  the  German 
of  two  or  three  words  he  did  not  know,  and  then 
put  it  in  his  pocket  book.  He  seemed  a  little 
taken  aback  at  the  style  of  thing  I  fancy,  but  was 
too  polite  to  make  himself  less  agreeable  for  it, 
and  for  the  few  words  with  which  it  was  followed 


June  j.    Heidelberg  to  Freiburg. 

Oh,  we  were  so  glad  to  get  out  of  Heidelberg  in 
spite  of  its  surrounding  beauties;  it  seems  to  pos- 
sess some  peculiar  acoustic  properties  whereby  all 
sound  is  magnified.  Every  footstep  reverberates, 
every  voice  echoes,  and  a  passing  carriage  might 
be  a  pack  of  artillery  or  a  fire  engine  at  the  least. 
We  started  by  the  Baden  railway,  our  route  being 


HEIDELBERG    TO    FREIBURG.  19 

south  with  a  wide  plain  to  the  west,  and  wooded 
ranges  on  the  east,  all  day.  Finding  we  could  get 
three  hours  at  Baden-Baden,  we  turned  off  the 
main  line  at  Oos.  The  heat  was  intense,  and  we 
took  a  carriage  at  once  to  the  Trinkhalle.  In 
front  is  a  splendid  open  saloon,  the  inner  wall 
covered  with  paintings  on  large  panels.  Within  is 
a  superb  hall  exquisitely  decorated,  in  the  centre 
a  fine  column  with  a  base  of  flowering  plants,  from 
among  which  the  waters  hot  and  cold  come  out 
in  little  fountains.  We  passed  on  through  shady 
gardens  to  the  maison  de  conversation;  the  taste- 
fully decorated  ballroom  has  the  most  superb 
chandeliers  I  ever  imagined,  their  masses  of  crystal 
festoonery  glittering  with  prismatic  hues  even  in 
this  subdued  light.  Through  an  opening  in  the 
mirrored  wall  we  came  upon  a  novel  scene,  a 
large  green  table  surrounded  by  perhaps  sixteen 
silent  players.  The  banker  or  leader  rapidly  laid 
down  cards,  flung  coins  to  various  parts  of  the 
table,  swept  them  in  with  a  little  money  rake,  now 
and  then  saying  "  Le  jeu  est  fait,"  which  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  sweep  of  the  money;  there  seemed  no 
play  in  it.  In  another  room  we  saw  the  roulette 
table;  only  men  were  there,  no  ladies. 

After  a  lunch  of  chicken  and  ices  we  ran  up  a 
little  height  above  the  Trinkhalle,  and  got  a  good 
general  view  of  the  place,  which  is  pretty  enough, 


20  SWISS   LETTERS. 

lying  among  these  wooded  hills.  At  three  p.m. 
we  left  for  Freiburg,  and  the  country  became  more 
beautiful  as  we  neared  it;  but  the  dust  neutralized 
the  enjoyment.  Surely  there  could  have  been  no 
dust  in  Eden  !  it  must  be  part  of  the  curse. 

After  our  arrival  at  the  Zahringer  Hof,  we 
sauntered  out,  and  thought  Freiburg  charming. 
Half  way  round  the  town  are  forest-clad  hills, 
broken  by  lovely  valleys,  stretching  away  into  the 
Black  Forest.  On  the  other  side  the  soft  purple 
outlines  of  the  French  mountains  told  grandly  un- 
der the  sunset.  A  rapid  mountain  stream,  alter- 
nately flooded  and  dried  up  (as  we  heard),  crossed 
our  path,  making  white  noisy  dashes  over  little 
rocky  barriers.  It  comes  from  three  sources  in 
the  hills  above,  and  so  is  named  the  Dreisam. 

It  is  an  additional  interest  to  this  tour  that 
H.  C.  travels  agriculturally;  I  shall  get  quite  up 
in  comparative  crops  and  so  forth.  We  stopped 
to  talk  to  a  pleasant  honest-faced  man  working  on 
his  own  ground,  and  he  gave  information  about  lu- 
cerne, and  fodder,  and  Indian  corn  with  apparent 
pleasure,  especially  when  I  told  him  that  Mr.  C. 
had  an  English  country  estate  and  liked  to  know 
how  a  German  one  was  managed.  He  had  vines 
too,  and  we  noticed  the  difference  in  foliage;  some 
vines,  having  large  plain  leaves  with  only  three 
divisions   and   hardly   serrated   at  all,   bore    the 


FREIBURG    TO    BASLE.  21 

Johannisberger  grape.  They  were  in  blossom. 
" Smell  it,"  he  said,  and  verily  "the  vines  with 
the  tender  grape  give  a  good  smell." 

H.  C.  is  very  amusing  to  travel  with,  he  throws 
himself  so  thoroughly  into  everything.  It  is  great 
fun  interpreting  for  him,  not  that  he  always  waits 
for  an  interpreter;  he  talks  English  to  the  na- 
tives quite  complacently,  and  they  make  very 
good  guesses  as  to  what  he  wants,  and  signs 
go  a  long  way. 

June  8.    Freiburg  to  Basle. 

Soon  after  breakfast  we  went  to  Freiburg  cathe- 
dral or  miinster,  in  I2th  and  13th  century  archi- 
tecture. The  spire  is  380  feet  high,  of  most 
delicately  beautiful  openwork,  the  airiest  tracery 
imaginable.  The  variety  of  Gothic  pattern  in  the 
parapet  work  is  quite  a  study  in  itself.  We  had 
intended  going  to  Steiz,  a  splendid  drive  through 
the  Hollenthal  (Valley  of  Hell),  issuing  in  the 
Himmelreich  (Kingdom  of  Heaven),  so  I  wonder  it 
was  not  called  Valley  of  Purgatory  instead;  it  is  a 
sort  of  circumstantial  evidence  that  the  aborigines 
were  not  Papists.  From  Steiz  we  were  to  drive 
next  day  to  Schaffhausen,  but  as  thunderstorms 
blew  up  we  went  on  by  train  to  Basle  instead. 
Our  window  in  La  Croix  Blanche  at  Basle  looks 
on  the  Rhine,  which  is  here  a  beautiful  blue  green, 


2  2  SWISS    LETTERS. 

inclining  to  silver  in  the  light  and  emerald  in  the 
shade;  it  is  flowing  swiftly,  and  breaking  white 
against  the  piers  of  the  bridge.  Opposite  are 
quaint,  many  windowed,  steeple  roofed  houses,  the 
cathedral  and  other  towers,  and  gardens  and  trees ' 
overhanging  the  river;  above  these,  grey  and 
purple  folds  of  cloud-curtain,  within  which  light- 
nings are  playing  and  thunder  is  growling.  But,  f 
once  for  all,  let  me  remind  you  that  I  do  not 
intend  to  write  what  Murray  gives  much  better; 
and  that  my  journal  is  only  a  prattle  of  individual 
reminiscences,  of  no  interest  to  any  but  amiable 
and  affectionate  friends. 

June  9.     Basle  to  Neuhausen. 

I  had  just  time  to  stroll  over  the  bridge  and  set 
foot  on  Swiss  soil  for  the  first  time,  and  then  off 
by  rail.  For  two  hours  it  was  the  prettiest  line  we 
have  yet  seen,  constantly  close  to  the  Rhine,  and 
the  valley  was  wide  enough  to  allow  of  a  fair  view 
on  both  sides.  The  river  grew  gradually  narrower, 
and  at  Rothenburg  it  was  compressed  into  a  nar- 
row gorge,  down  which  it  thundered  dark,  and 
white,  and  mighty.  Actually  the  station  was 
placed  exactly  where  we  had  apparently  the  best 
possible  view  of  the  cataract,  with  some  old  towers 
on  the  opposite  bank,  a  quaint  bridge  just  above, 
and  a  background  of  lovely  wooded  hills.     From 


BASLE    TO    NEUIIAUSEN.  23 

Waldshut  the  scenery  was  tame,  and  one  could 
rest  one's  eyes  without  compunction. 

At  Neuhausen,  three  miles  from  SchafThausen 
we  went  to  the  Schweizer  Hof,  and  asked  for 
rooms  fronting  the  Rhine,  but  hardly  expected  the 
vision  when  the  waiter  opened  the  glass  doors  and 
ushered  us  on  to  our  tiny  balcony.  It  was  a  full 
front  view  of  the  falls  of  the  Rhine,  380  feet  wide 
by  50  or  60  feet  high,  the  hotel  grounds  alone  in- 
tervening between  us  and  the  river.  The  falls  are 
a  mass  of  sparkling  white,  broken  by  two  or  three 
tree-covered  rocks;  about  four  we  set  out  to  see 
them,  by  winding  shady  paths  to  the  railway  bridge 
above  the  falls,  which  has  a  footway.  It  was  fas- 
cinating to  look  down  at  the  wild  rapids,  sheets 
of  glasslike  transparency  flowing  swiftly  over  rock 
tables  then  a  sudden  precipice  below,  water  which 
might  go  down  to  any  depth,  only  that  you  are 
not  looking  down  into  darkness,  but  into  emerald 
and  snow,  mingled  and  transfused  marvellously, 
and  full  of  motion  and  power  and  almost  life. 
Then  we  went  up  to  the  castle  of  Laufen,  and  saw 
some  fine  Swiss  paintings  by  Jenny,  a  pupil  of 
Calame  of  Geneva  (now  dead),  the  greatest  Swiss 
landscape  painter.  But  the  view  from  outside  was 
unapproachable  by  any  artist;  and  we  descended 
from  point  to  point,  getting  new  impressions  of 
what  a  waterfall  can  be,  at  each.     At  one  we  had 


24  SWISS   LETTERS. 

a  rainbow  in  the  highest  spray,  arching  the  whole 
fall;  at  another  a  new  rainbow  hung  over  the 
lower  part,  seeming  to  rest  upon  the  utter  rest- 
lessness behind  it.  I  felt  it  was  perfectly  im- 
possible for  any  words  to  convey  a  tolerable  idea 
of  the  falls,  as  seen  from  the  rocks  close  beside 
them.  The  rocks  beneath  them  are  not  a  smooth 
ledge,  but  broken  and  varied,  and  thus  the  water 
is  thrown  into  a  chaos  of  magnificent  curves  and 
leaps  infinitely  more  beautiful  than  any  single 
chute  could  be,  water  against  water,  foam  against 
foam.  You  look  up  and  see  masses,  mountains  of 
white,  bright  water  hurled  everlastingly  and  irre- 
sistibly down,  down,  down,  with  a  sort  of  exuber- 
ance of  the  joy  of  utter  strength.  You  look  across 
and  see  shattered  diamonds  by  millions,  leaping 
and  glittering  in  the  sunshine.  You  look  down, 
and  it  is  a  tremendous  wrestling  and  sinking  and 
overcoming  of  flood  upon  flood,  all  the  more 
weirdly  grand  that  it  is  half  hidden  in  the  clouds 
of  spray.  Only  one  cannot  look  long,  it  is  so 
dazzling,  so  intensely  white,  every  drop  so  full  of 
light,  that  the  eye  soon  wearies  and  memory  has 
to  begin  her  work.  Oh,  if  one  were  only  all  spirit ! 
We  came  across  the  Rhine  in  a  little  boat  just 
below  the  falls,  and  were  thankful  to  rest  in  our 
charming  hotel. 


NEUHAUSEN  TO  ZURICH.  25 


June  10.  Neuhausen  to  Zurich. 

After  breakfast  I  could  not  resist  a  fling  upon 
the  piano,  and  among  other  things  played  the 
Wedding  March.  Presently  after  we  were  told 
there  was  a  wedding  breakfast  in  the  hotel  that 
morning,  the  last  unmarried  lady  in  Neuhausen, 
said  our  informant;  there  wrere  sixty  not  long 
ago,  but  the  fifty-nine  were  already  married  and 
done  for.  We  saw  the  wedding  party  come  in, 
from  church  I  suppose;  the  bride,  a  handsome 
dark-eyed  girl,  looked  radiant,  and  beamed  out 
smiles  with  the  kisses  she  was  bestowing  most 
graciously  on  a  bevy  of  lady  .friends.  It  was 
great  luxury  to  sit  on  the  terrace  overlooking  the 
falls,  and  scribble  my  journal  under  a  shady  tree; 
and,  when  that  was  done,  I  jotted  some  verses 
which  have  been  haunting  me.  The  text  was  sent 
me  lately;  I  never  noticed  it  before.  How  strange 
it  is  what  treasures  we  miss  every  time  we  read  ! 

DARKNESS   AND    LIGHT. 

*'  What  I  tell  yon  in  darkness,  that  speak  ye  in  light" — Matt.  x.  27. 

He  hath  spoken  in  the  darkness, 

In  the  silence  of  the  night, 
Spoken  sweetly  of  the  Father, 

Words  of  life  and  love  and  light. 


26  SWISS    LETTERS. 

Floating  through  the  sombre  stillness 

Came  the  loved  and  loving  Voice, 
Speaking  peace  and  solemn  gladness, 

That  His  children  might  rejoice. 
What  He  tells  thee  in  the  darkness, 

Songs  He  giveth  m  the  night — 
Rise  and  speak  it  in  the  morning, 

Rise  and  sing  them  hi  the  light! 

He  hath  spoken  in  the  darkness, 

In  the  silence  of  thy  grief, 
Sympathy  so  deep  and  tender, 

Mighty  for  thy  heart  relief. 
Speaking  in  thy  night  of  sorrow 

Words  of  comfort  and  of  calm, 
Gently  on  thy  wounded  spirit 

Pouring  true  and  healing  balm. 
What  He  tells  thee  in  the  darkness, 

Weary  watcher  for  the  day, 
Grateful  lip  and  life  should  utter 

When  the  shadows  flee  away. 

He  is  speaking  in  the  darkness, 

Though  thou  canst  not  see  His  face; 
More  than  angels  ever  needed, 

Mercy,  pardon,  love,  and  grace; 
Speaking  of  the  many  mansions, 

Where  in  safe  and  holy  rest 
Thou  shalt  be  with  Him  forever, 

Perfectly  and  always  blest. 
What  He  tells  thee  in  the  darkness, 

Whispers  through  time's  lonely  night, 
Thou  shalt  speak  in  glorious  praises, 

In  the  everlasting  light ! 


NEUHAUSEN  TO  ZURICH.  27 

We  left  at  1.15,  and  came  on  to  Schaffhausen 
and  had  a  run  into  the  town;  the  cathedral  is  the 
plainest  barn  that  ever  bore  the  name.  "A  Me- 
thodist, meeting  !  "  opined  H.  C.  The  rail  from 
thence  to  Zurich  was  very  pretty,  giving  glimpses 
of  the  Rhine,  which  seemed  to  get  greener  and 
greener.  We  drove  through  Zurich  in  an  open 
carriage,  and  H.  C.  remarked  on  its  very  prosper- 
ous appearance.  I  reminded  him  that  it  is  Prot- 
estant. Presently  we  passed  a  private  carriage 
with  some  very  sleek  well-to-do  looking  steeds. 
"  Protestant  horses,  I  suppose  !  "  said   he. 

Not  wishing  for  the  dawdle  of  five  o'clock  table 
d'hote,  we  dined  alone  in  a  side  saloon  tastefully 
decorated,  and  set  off  with  a  few  paintings  of  Swiss 
scenery.  As  we  sat  in  peace  and  silence,  a  band 
commenced  in  the  large  saloon  to  my  intense 
delight,  the  effect  softened  by  the  closed  doors 
which  barred  the  table  d'hote  clatter,  and  only  let 
sweet  sounds  through.  It  was  very  superior  to  the 
Heidelberg  band;  I  never  heard  better  light  and 
shade,  or  more  gradual  and  delicate  diminuendos, 
except  at  the  festivals,  and  to  have  it  all  to  our- 
selves in  such  quiet  was   something  delicious. 

Then  we  walked  in  the  garden,  which  stretches 
down  to  the  lake,  our  first  Swiss  lake  !  It  was 
too  hazy  for  the  distant  mountains,  but  the  nearer 
scenery  was  soft  and  lovely,  the  lake  very  still,  and 


28  SWISS   LETTERS. 

delicately  tinted  with  green  and  purple,  while  the 
dipping  sun  caught  the  scarlet  oars  and  really 
snowy  sails  of  numbers  of  bright  little  boats.  I 
intend  systematically  to  let  the  towns  alone  and 
reserve  myself  for  the  beauties  of  nature;  one  gets 
knocked  up  if  one  tries  to  do  everything;  so  I  shall 
always  rest  (as  now)  while  the  others  are  gone  into 
any  town.  I  am  always  better  for  a  rest,  and 
enjoy  the  views  all  the  more  for  sacrificing  the 
architecture. 

June  ii.    Zurich  to  Berne. 

M.  L.  and  her  father  went  for  a  walk  at  6.30 
a.m.  The  whole  day  was  cool  and  hazy.  We  left 
at  ten  and  reached  Berne  at  two  by  a  still  more 
beautiful  line  than  the  last;  and  though  we  have 
seen  no  snow  yet,  we  passed  near  a  group  of 
sharply  peaked  mountains  unlike  any  we  have 
yet  seen  in  our  lives.  I  had  a  talk  with  an  old 
Swiss  gentleman  from  Winterthiir,  chiefly  on 
music.  He  had  been  in  England  several  times, 
and  knew  a  very  musical  set  personally,  Joachim, 
Piatti,  Benedict,  and  others.  He  was  evidently 
really  musical.  He  had  been  to  some  of  the 
English  festivals;  but  catch  any  one  speaking  the 
German  tongue  giving  a  good  word  to  any  English 
music!  "Yes,  they  were  pretty  fair,  but  the 
English  were  all  infatuated  for  large  orchestras," 


BERNE    TO    Til  UN.  29 

which  he  considered  a  great  mistake;  "it  was  im- 
possible to  get  perfect  light  and  shade  from  five 
hundred  performers."  And  the  Handel  Festival 
itself  had  made  no  other  impression  on  him.  I 
am  glad  I  have  not  arrived  at  that  pitch  of 
musical  cultivation !  We  went  to  see  the  bears 
in  the  afternoon,  and  had  great  fun  with  them; 
the  largest  literally  laid  himself  out  for  our 
amusement,  catching  the  cakes  lazily  as  he 
rolled  about  on  his  back. 

Berne  is  quite  the  most  novel  and  utterly 
foreign  town  I  have  seen,  the  streets  arcaded  like 
Chester,  with  bright  red  or  orange  cushions  in 
every  window  seat,  which  touch  up  the  grey 
stone  effectively  and  complement  the  bright  green 
Venetian  shutters.  We  ought  to  see  the  Alps 
from  our  windows  at  the  Berner  Hof,  which  com- 
mand a  fine  view  even  without  them;  but  it  is 
hopelessly  misty. 

June  12.    Berne  to  Thun. 

At  last !  About  five  a.m.  M.  L.  crept  quietly  to 
the  window,  and  I  woke  as  she  passed.  "  Any- 
thing to  see?"  "Oh  yes,  I  really  do  believe  I 
see  them,"  she  said  quite  solemnly.  Of  course  I 
was  up  in  a  second.  The  sun  had  risen  above  the 
thick  mist,  and  away  in  the  south-east  were  giant 
outlines  bending  towards  him  as  if  they  had  been 


30  SWISS    LETTERS. 

our  mighty  guardian  spirits  all  night,  and  were 
resigning  their  charge  ere  they  flew  away  into  far- 
ther light.  Anything  less  ethereal  and  less  holy 
they  could  scarcely  be;  the  very  mist  was  a  fold- 
ing of  wings  about  their  feet,  and  a  veiling  of 
what  might  be  angel  brows,  grand  and  serene.  It 
is  no  use  laughing  at  "  fancies";  wait  till  you 
have  seen  what  we  did  from  the  roof  of  the 
Berner  Hof !  The  effect  was  the  more  striking  as 
we  had  scanned  the  southern  horizon  the  evening 
before  with  glasses,  and  not  a  vestige  of  mount- 
ains could  be  seen;  and  now  these  lofty,  shadowy 
sentinels  stood  where  our  senses  had  told  us 
there  was  nothing  but  sky,  not  even  cloud,  tall 
and  majestic,  far  out-topping  the  green  hills  in 
front.  The  vision  did  not  last  long;  it  seemed 
to  melt  into  light  rather  than  into  mist. 

We  took  a  morning  train  to  Thun,  and  got 
letters  and  luggage,  and  rooms  with  the  very  per- 
fection of  a  view,  at  the  Belle  Vue,  rightly  named. 
It  was  the  pleasantest  hour  I  ever  spent  in  a  train, 
for  the  Alps  were  visible  soon  after  leaving  Berne, 
and  every  minute  we  were  seeing  more  and  more 
of  them,  and  of  the  marvellous  glisten  of  the 
glaciers.  In  the  afternoon  we  took  a  boat  for  a  two 
hours'  sail  on  the  lake,  and  saw  the  Jungfrau  and 
Monch  and  Eiger  in  delicious  restful  leisure;  and 
the  mountains  looked  at  leisure  too,  so  still  and 


BERNE    TO    TNLW.  3 1 

mighty  and  unapproachable  by  any  human  bustle 
and  hurry  and  ferment.  So  now  the  dream  of  all 
my  life  is  realized,  and  I  have  seen  snow  mount- 
ains !  When  I  was  quite  a  little  child  the  idea  of 
them  took  possession  of  me;  at  eight  or  nine  years 
old  I  used  to  reverie  about  them,  and  when  I 
heard  the  name  of  the  snow-covered  Sierra  de  la 
Summa  Paz  (perfect  peace),  the  idea  was  com- 
pleted, and  I  thenceforth  always  thought  of  eternal 
snow  and  perfect  peace  together,  and  longed  to 
see  the  one  and  drink  in  the  other.  And  I  am 
not  disappointed,  not  in  the  very  least;  they  are 
just  as  pure  and  bright  and  peace-suggestive  as 
ever  I  dreamt  them.  It  may  be  rather  in  the 
style  of  the  old  women  who  invariably  say  "it's 
just  like  heaven"  whenever  they  get  a  comfortable 
tea  meeting;  but  really  I  never  saw  anything 
material  and  earthly  which  so  suggested  the 
ethereal  and  heavenly,  which  so  seemed  to  lead  up 
to  the  unseen,  to  be  the  very  steps  of  the  Throne; 
and  one  could  better  fancy  them  to  be  the  visible 
foundations  of  the  invisible  celestial  city,  bearing 
some  wonderful  relation  to  its  transparent  gold 
and  crystal  sea,  than  only  snow  and  granite  rising 
out  of  this  same  every-day  earth  we  are  treading, 
dusty  and  stony. 


32  SWISS   LETTERS. 

June  13.    Sunday  at  Thun. 

And  rather  an  ideal  Sunday  too,  calm  and 
bright  and  quiet,  and  with  "  beauty  all  around 
our  path."  I  went  to  the  German  or  rather 
Swiss,  service,  guided  by  the  "  sweet  bells  jan- 
gled," though  not  "out  of  tune,"  only  out  of  all 
order  and  rhythm,  as  continental  bells  always  are. 

The  Swiss  punctuality,  which  so  far  we  have 
found  perfect,  extended  to  the  service,  for  though 

I  was  in  full  two  minutes  before  the  organ  began 
not  half  a  dozen  came  in  after  me,  and  the  church 
was  full.  More  than  half  the  feminine  part  were 
in  costume;  I  looked  over  the  hymn  with  a  velvet 
bodiced,  white  sleeved  maiden.  It  was  an  old 
favorite  of  mine :  "  Praise  ye  the  Lord,  the 
mighty  King  of  glory."  Then  the  preacher  read 
the  eighth  Psalm,  which  was  his  text.  The  first 
part  was  on  God's  glory  in  creation;  he  worked 
up  a  rather  eloquent  rhapsody  into  the  climax: 

II  And  who  of  all  on  the  face  of  the  earth  should 
so  praise  God  for  the  splendor  which  He  has 
poured  out  upon  His  works  as  we  Swiss,  in  this 
our  blessed  and  beautiful  fatherland  !  "  The  old 
man  said  it  with  a  patriotic  emphasis  worthy  of  a 
son  of  Tell.  After  service  the  whole  congregation 
lingered  for  quite  half  an  hour  in  the  churchyard, 
which  commanded  a  magnificent  view  on  all  sides 


THUN   TO    INTERLACHEN.  33 

up  and  down  the  valley,  for  the  church  crowns 
a  little  round  hill  standing-  alone.  Many  went  to 
different  graves  and  gathered  a  flower  or  adjusted 
a  creeper.  The  inscriptions  were  chiefly  on  little 
brass  plates,  brightly  polished  on  neat  iron  stand- 
ards three  or  four  feet  high;  the  greater  part  were 
verses  of  affectionate  remembrance,  or  passages 
of  well  known  chorales,  but  there  were  many  Scrip- 
ture ones  too.  On  one  side  were  several  English 
graves:- one  was  to  Frances  Hatfield,  aged  15; 
it  had  been  beautifully  arranged,  but  now  the 
little  railing  was  rusty,  and  the  rosebush  was 
straggling,  and  the  weeds  were  rank  at  its  foot. 
Perhaps  there  are  sorrowful  hearts  in  England,  to 
whom  that  little  foreign  grave  is  very  dear. 

The  English  service  in  the  evening  was  very 
pleasant  and  quiet,  a  nice  little  sermon  on  "  When 
ye  pray,  say  Our  Father,"  etc.,  from  the  chaplain, 
Rev.  E.  Venables;  son-in-law  of  Frank's  godfather 
to  whom  M.  introduced  herself  next  day. 

June.  14.    Thun  to  Interlachen. 

A  day  of  considerable  variation  as  to  plans,  the 
morning  being  stormy;  but  as  the  sun  came  out 
in  the  afternoon  we  took  the  three  o'clock  steamer 
to  Interlachen.  But  before  we  were  two  miles 
down  the  lake  it  commenced  pouring,  and  soon 
the  steamer  seemed  to  be  charging  a  rampart  of 


34  SWISS   LETTERS. 

fog,  any  view  being  hopeless,  and  we  continued 
rushing  through  the  wild  storm  till  we  landed  at 
Interlachen,  and  were  safely  omnibused  to  the 
Jungfraublick,  the  highest  hotel  in  Interlachen 
(which  has  the  reputation  of  being  hot  and  close 
and  sleepless).  Here  we  are  perched  on  a  terrace 
looking  down  into  the  valley,  with  the  Jungfrau 
looking  down  upon  us  between  two  steep  wooded 
hills,  shining  out  of  grey  clouds  every  now  and 
then  like  a  sudden  smile,  with  that  wonderful  in- 
tensity of  whiteness  which  to  me  gives  a  totally 
new  force  to  "  whiter  than  snow."  And  I  see  too 
how  perfectly  the  evangelists  complete  each  oth- 
er's description  of  our  Lord's  transfiguration  rai- 
ment (St.  Matthew  says  it  was  "white  as  the 
light,"  St.  Mark  exceeding  white  as  snow"),  for 
this  Alpine  snow  is  light  materialized  and  snow 
etherealized,  it  is  a  combination  of  the  impres- 
sions of  each.  I  came  across  "solidified  hydro- 
gen" the  other  day,  which  rather  astonished  me; 
but  now  I  seem  to  have  seen  solidified  light. 

June  15.  Interlachen  to  Lauterbrunnen. 
We  looked  out  upon  a  morning  view  of  grey 
driving  cloud,  where  mountain  summits  ought  to 
have  been,  with  glimpses  of  snow  on  heights  which 
were  certainly  bare  the  evening  before.  But  a  wet 
morning  enables  one  to  pay  off  arrears  of  scribbles 


INTERLACHEN  TO  LAUTERBRUNNEN.         35 

and  stitches,  so  we  wrote  letters  and  sang  duets 
and  chatted  with  an  agreeable  English  lady  who 
was  pedestrianizing  with  her  brother;  table  d'hote 
in  a  superb  saloon,  every  chair  carved,  and  all 
else  in  proportion.  We  sat  next  four  Germans. 
Foreigners  call  the  English  unsociable,  but  not 
once  as  yet  (except  the  Italian  at  Heidelberg) 
has  a  single  foreigner  addressed  us  for  the  sake 
of  sociability;  we  have  always  spoken  first,  and  so 
to-day.  One  gentleman  was  evidently  superior 
and  cultivated,  with  a  positively  brilliant  flow  of 
language;  he  was  discussing  the  various  construc- 
tion of  different  languages,  and  then  varieties  of 
German  construction,  and  gave  fluent  and  clever 
illustrations  of  each.  After  rain,  sunshine;  so  we 
set  off  at  four  in  an  open  carriage  to  Lauterbrun- 
nen  in  a  perfectly  transparent  atmosphere.  Fancy 
nine  miles'  drive  up  a  deep  valley,  hills  six  or  seven 
thousand  feet  high  on  each  side,  wooded  wherever 
trees  could  get  root,  and  where  not,  rocky  and  pre- 
cipitous, between  them  at  each  opening  views  of 
snow  mountains  glittering  in  brilliant  light;  below, 
a  wild  stream,  the  Liitschine,  rushing  in  one  per- 
petual downhill  of  rapids  and  little  falls;  every 
now  and  then  a  silver  thread  of  a  waterfall  gleam- 
ing out  on  the  farther  side  of  the  valley,  or  a  broad 
ribband  of  one  dashing  down  the  nearer  side  to 
our  very  feet,  to  be  crossed  by  a  little  bridge,  then 


36  SWISS   LETTERS. 

the  whole  picture  "  grounded  "  with  all  shades  of 
the  freshest,  brightest  green,  still  wet  with  the 
morning's  rain  and  canopied  with  vivid  blue.  And 
at  every  turn  coming  nearer  to  the  Jungfrau, 
"  Queen  of  the  Alps,"  which  fills  up  the  valley  in 
front,  and  only  hides  herself  again  when  we  get 
too  close  under  her  silver  throne !  Was  not 
this  "  something  like  "  ? 

It  struck  me  again  here,  as  in  Scotland  last 
summer,  what  marvellous  lavishment  of  beauty 
God  has  poured  upon  the  details  of  His  works. 
For  here,  in  the  presence  of  these  culminations  of 
earthly  magnificence,  scenes  beyond  what  we  ever 
saw  before,  if  the  eye  dropped  and  rested  on  the 
very  ground  it  was  just  as  beautiful  in  its  propor- 
tion as  if  there  were  no  other  loveliness  for  us  far 
or  near;  ferns,  and  flowers,  and  grasses,  and  mossy 
boulders,  and  tiny  streams,  every  square  foot  being 
a  little  world  of  beauty.  One  item  in  these  minor 
charms  was  the  luxuriant  way  in  which  the  firs 
had  sown  themselves,  thousands  of  wee  fir  trees 
springing  up  on  banks  and  among  rocks,  some 
standing  alone  in  green  tiny  gracefulness,  others 
growing  in  the  prettiest  little  miniature  groves 
you  can  imagine.  I  never  saw  firs  growing  this 
way  anywhere  else;  they  were  like  kittens  to  cats, 
so  very  pretty  and  petable. 

Near  Lauterbrunnen  we  passed  under  tremen- 


LAUTERBRUNNEN  TO  MURREN  tf 

dous  bastions  of  rock  as  the  gorge  narrowed  in;  and 
then  saw  the  long  waving  veil  of  delicate  white 
mist,  and  needed  no  telling  that  it  was  the  Staub- 
bach.  We  walked  on  to  its  foot,  and  H.  C.  irre- 
verently suggested  what  a  firstrate  shower  bath  it 
would  be!  I  should  not  mind  trying,  it  comes 
down  so  temptingly  and  fairily,  not  nearly  so 
substantially  as  in  its  picture.  We  walked  a  mile 
or  more  up  the  valley,  enjoying  the  evening  sun- 
shine on  the  Jungfrau,  and  its  shining  and  most 
pure  Silberhorn  and  other  white  peaks  before  us. 
And  just  as  we  returned,  and  the  valley  was 
darkening,  lo  "  the  afterglow,"  which  I  so  much 
wished  to  see.  Rosy  gold,  or  golden  rosiness, 
comes  as  near  as  I  can  give  it;  but  words  of  any 
sort  are  not  much  use.  One  more  effect  was  still 
in  reserve:  when  we  came  up  to  our  room,  the 
crescent  moon  was  shedding  a  pale  holy  glimmer 
over  the  snow,  and  the  sky  behind  it  was  no  in- 
visible purple  or  neutral  tint,  but  a  most  ethereal 
blue,  which  I  never  saw  at  night  before  and  do 
not  understand. 

June  1 6.      LAUTERBRUNNEN  TO  MURREN. 

To   open   our    eyes    upon    the   Jungfrau    itself 

before  one  even  raised  one's  head  from  the  pillow 

was   very  like   a    dream!     At    nine    we    started, 

all  on  horses;    the    creatures  had    lively  heads, 


38  SWISS   LETTERS. 

and  were  very  knowing  and  cautious  in  picking 
their  way.  "  Mine  is  a  most  stupid  beast,"  says 
H.  C,  "and  a  great  deal  more  afraid  of  breaking 
his  knees  than  I  am."  We  did  not  consider  this 
conclusive  as  to  his  stupidity,  and  think  it  must' 
be  rather  advantageous  to  ride  such  "stupid 
beasts "  up  and  down  such  break-neck  places. 
The  road  to  Miirren  was  to  take  us  over  the  top  of 
the  Staubbach,  which  was  rather  incomprehensi- 
ble, as  the  sides  of  the  valley  look  nearly  perpen- 
dicular, and  a  good  part  is  absolutely  so.  But  a 
path  developed  itself  by  degrees  up  an  unnoticed 
ravine,  aseries  of  tremendously  sharp  steep  zigzags 
and  shelves  over  precipices,  and  crossings  of  wild 
little  burns,  about  one-fourth  torrent  and  three- 
fourths  waterfall.  When  we  got  to  the  Staubbach 
we  dismounted,  and  scrambled  to  the  very  edge 
from  which  it  takes  the  one  leap  of  925  feet  sheer 
down  into  the  valley !  The  guide  was  a  little 
anxious,  and  kept  warning  us  to  hold  fast  by  the 
small  trees;  a  slip  on  that  "mossy  bank"  would 
have  been  too  awful  to  think  of. 

After  this,  though  still  very  steep,  the  path  was 
easier,  lying  chiefly  through  fir  woods,  the  slope  be- 
ing so  great  one  wondered  how  they  could  grow  at 
all,  and  the  tops  of  tall  trees  were  close  below  us. 
At  every  turn,  as  we  rose  higher  and  higher  di- 
rectly opposite  the  Jungfrau,  she  seemed  to  grow 


LAUTERBRUNNEN  TO  MURREN.  39 

grander  and  grander,  and  we  began  to  realize  her 
stature ;  tremendous  precipices  rise  like  Titan  walls 
out  of  the  valley,  then  rock  and  snow  struggle 
for  predominance,  then  snow  prevails,  and  the  Sil- 
berhorn  rises  in  one  smooth  curved  cone  of  pure 
unbroken  white,  and  the  real  summit  towers  still 
higher  behind,  dazzling  even  against  the  dazzling 
sky.  "  It  will  be  finer  yet,"  said  our  guide,  Perther. 
"  How  can  that  be?"  "You  will  see!"  It  was 
true;  when  we  finally  came  out  of  the  forest  the 
Jungfrau  was  still  the  centre,  but  only  the  centre 
point  of  the  grandest  of  even  Alpine  amphi- 
theatres. On  her  right  the  white  Monk  and  the 
Eiger  with  its  perpendicular  side  in  full  view,  on 
the  left  the  Rothhorn,  Breithorn,  and  Sparrenhorn, 
in  stately  range;  glaciers,  avalanche  tracks,  snow- 
fields,  snow-walls,  and  everything  Alpine  that 
ever  one  heard  of,  all  in  one  view.  And  all  the 
while  "the  grass  of  the  field"  was  as  lovely  as 
ever  at  our  feet,  sheets  of  flowers  around  us,  all 
delicate  and  tiny  and  exquisite,  just  the  other 
pole  of  the  world  of  the  Beautiful. 

M.  seemed  to  know  them  all,  though  there  was 
an  immense  variety.  We  gathered  gentianellas 
large  and  small,  and  it  is  heresy  to  have  no  rap- 
tures for  them;  but  for  a  perfect  eye-delight  of 
blue,  commend  me  to  the  Alpine  forget-me-not, 
I  never  saw  anything  prettier  in  shape  and  color: 


40  SWISS   LETTERS. 

and  they  grew  as  buttercups  do  with  us,  by- 
millions,  like  turquoises,  only  alive  and  posi- 
tively smiling. 

We  reached  Miirren  at  eleven.  It  is  a  little 
village  to  which  there  is  no  nearer  or  easier  way 
than  that  by  which  we  came,  and  all  the  people 
want  has  to  be  carried  on  mules.  "  But  they  don't 
want  much,"  said  the  guide;  "they  have  wood 
and  cows,  and  they  don't  need  anything  else  ex- 
cept coffee  and  flour  and  a  little  cloth."  There 
are  too  few  for  a  church,  so  they  come  all  the 
way  to  Lauterbrunnen  on  Sunday,  except  in  the 
winter,  when  they  are  entirely  snowed  up  for 
weeks  together,  and  even  Lauterbrunnen  is  in 
pretty  much  the  same  predicament. 

We  set  off  on  foot  to  get  as  much  higher  as 
we  could  by  goat  paths,  and  soon  came  to  little 
patches  of  snow  which  did  not  seem  in  the  least 
to  interfere  with  the  flowers,  but  glittered  on  in  a 
"  happy  family"  sort  of  way  among  the  forget-me- 
nots  and  saxifrage.  But  clouds  were  gathering  on 
the  heights  and  coming  lower  rather  suddenly,  so 
we  were  all  in  very  good  time  for  the  table  d'hote 
at  one  o'clock;  we  thought  we  ought  only  to  have 
feasted  on  goat's  milk  and  such  like,  at  5,465  feet 
above  sea  level !  Before  we  rose  it  was  sleeting 
fast,  and  beyond  ten  yards  nothing  was  visible. 
The  next  hour  or  two  was  decidedly  lively;  there 


LAUTERBRUNNEN   TO    MURREN.  41 

was  difference  of  opinion  as  to  weather,  so  some 
started  and  others  waited,  but  everybody  had 
taken  atmospheric  champagne,  and  was  in  the  best 
possible  spirits,  and  all  crowded  to  the  door  to  see 
each  departure  and  get  as  much  fun  as  possible 
out  of  it.  Two  good  tempered  and  most  plucky 
English  ladies  actually  set  off  to  the  Stachelberg, 
some  miles  farther  and  a  good  deal  higher,  and 
did  not  care  whether  they  saw  anything  at  all,  so 
that  they  went.  Our  German  acquaintances  from 
Interlachen  were  there,  and  rattled  away  most 
amusingly.  One  of  them,  a  sweet  looking  girl, 
reminding  us  a  little  of  Emily  B.,  took  H.  C.'s 
fancy  greatly  and  made  herself  most  agreeable  in 
pretty  broken  English.  One  of  the  gentlemen  said 
both  his  ladies  had  fallen  in  love  with  him,  and  he 
must  have  shared  in  the  fascination,  for  he  offered 
H.  C.  two  tickets,  freeing  a  great  deal  of  Italian 
travel,  including  fare  from  hence,  to  use,  if  he 
would  do  him  the  honor  to  accept  them  !  In  the 
midst  of  it  two  Liverpool  gentlemen  came  down 
from  the  Schiltho/n,  for  which  they  had  started  at 
three  a.m.,  leaving  their  wives  to  amuse  themselves 
with  watching  them  through  a  telescope,  and  it 
was  rather  fresh  and  interesting  to  hear  them  talk 
of  being  dug  out  of  the  snow  only  two  hours 
before,  and  other  small  adventures  of  the  kind. 
We  waited  longer  than  most,  and  at  last  set  off  in 


42  SWISS   LETTERS. 

heavy  rain  and  sleet.  We  looked  down  on  form- 
less cloud  and  fog",  with  no  outline  and  no  color, 
filling  an  indefinite  abyss,  now  and  then  shapeless 
openings  disclosing  darker  cloud.  We  intended 
walking  down  all  the  worst  places,  but  it  was  so 
wet  and  dirty,  and  the  guides  were  so  reassur- 
ing, that  we  stuck  valiantly  on  till  we  reached 
the  Staubbach  again.  Here  we  dismounted  and 
raced  down  the  hill.  The  guides  having  pro- 
nounced H.  C.  "a  right  good  rider,"  he  had  been 
allowed  to  go  forward,  alone,  and  we  found  him 
comfortably  settled  at  the  hotel.  "Why,  papa!" 
said  M.,  "did  you  ride  down  all  those  staircases  ?" 
"Why  not?"  said  he;  "the  horse  had  got  to 
come  down,  and  he  might  as  well  take  me  on  his 
back  as  not ! " 

June  17.  Lauterbrunnen  to  Grindelwald. 

A  very  lovely  but  uncertain  looking  morning, 
which  finally  cleared  up  radiantly.  We  got  photo- 
graphs from  Yakob  Huggler,  a  clever  peasant 
carver,  at  his  stall  of  alpenstock  and  knicknacks 
close  by.  The  drive  to  Grindelwald  was  much 
such  another  as  that  to  Lauterbrunnen,  with  the 
Wetterhorn  instead  of  the  Jungfrau  before  us  and 
the  valley  rather  wider.  The  twin  Liitschinen 
streams  meet  at  its  entrance,  and  we  followed  the 
black  instead  of  the  white  Liitschine.     On  nearing- 


LAUTERBRUNNEN  TO  GRINDELWALD.         43 

Grindelwald,  the  driver  told  us  we  should  see  the 
lower  glacier  round  the  next  corner,  so  we  looked 
eagerly  and  saw — a  dirty  mass  of  stones  and  grey 
mud,  among  which  peered  out  dirty  ice  and  snow, 
worthy  of  the  Black  Country  itself.  So  we  con- 
cluded it  to  be  a  delusion  and  a  snare,  and  went 
to  the  upper  glacier  instead,  which  is  much  purer. 
We  had  a  lovely  walk  and  ride  to  its  foot,  which 
is  like  a  very  wild  and  wide  sea  beach  all  barren 
and  desolate.  We  scrambled  a  little  way  up  the 
sloping  ice,  but  the  man  in  charge  urged  us  not 
to  go  on,  for  the  edge  of  the  glacier  itself,  high 
above  us,  was  constantly  breaking  away  and  it  was 
very  dangerous,  so  we  came  down  after  inspecting 
a  snowball  big  enough  to  have  killed  half  a  dozen 
people,  which  had  fallen  only  a  few  hours  before; 
we  attacked  it  and  ate  avalanche,  and  found  it  very 
refreshing.  We  went  into  an  ice  grotto,  blue 
and  glistening  and  transparent,  but  too  evidently 
neatly  hollowed  out  and  not  natural,  so  I  did 
not  feel  frantic  about  it. 

It  is  immense  fun  meeting  all  sorts  of  people 
over  and  over  again.  Already  we  have  so  many 
acquaintances  that  we  meet  some  everywhere 
whom  we  had  met  before.  To-day  the  amusing 
heroines  of  the  Stachelberg  came  to  our  inn,  and 
on  our  way  to  the  glacier  we  saw  our  German 
friends  coming  down  a  bank  upon  us;  one  instantly 


44  SWISS    IE  TIERS. 

hoisted  his  cap  on  his  alpenstock  and  waved  a 
merry  welcome.  Last  night  some  Thun  friends 
walked  in  to  Lauterbrunnen,  and  we  improved  the 
acquaintance.  The  chambermaids  are  a  speciality 
of  mine,  and  interest  me;  they  are  always  pleasant 
and  obliging,  and  generally  very  intelligent  girls. 
They  all  say  they  can  never  go  to  church,  as 
Sunday  is  usually  the  busiest  day;  they  always 
seem  extremely  pleased  to  be  chatted  with. 

June  18.     Grindelwald  to  Interlachen. 

Thick  and  threatening  all  day,  and  we  drove  to 
Interlachen  early.  On  the  way  we  passed  an 
alpenhorn  played  by  a  small  boy  not  nearly  so  tall 
as  the  horn  was  long.  It  is  fastened  on  a  pivot,  so 
as  to  command  different  echoes.  The  alpenhorns 
are  best  at  a  little  distance,  which  softens  the  tone 
and  assimilates  it  more  nearly  to  the  flute-like 
sweetness  of  the  echo,  which  seems  a  sort  of 
fairy  answer  coming  out  of  some  magical  hall  in 
the  rock.  The  strain  oftenest  repeated,  and  per- 
haps the  most  telling,  was  this: 


The  tone  is  very  powerful,  and  the  middle  notes 
extremely  mellow. 


INTERLACHEN.  45 

We  had  aspiring"  ideas  as  to  the  Scheinige 
Platte,  the  nearest  height  to  our  hotel,  6,000  feet; 
but  clouds  hung  heavy  all  round,  so  we  came  down 
to  a  walk  across  the  valley  to  Hohbuhl.  The 
afternoon  also  was  not  fine  enough  to  be  worth  an 
excursion,  so  M.  and  I  rested,  and  M.  L.  and  her 
papa  had  a  walk. 

June    19.     INTERLACHEN. 

The  weather  settled  our  plans  for  us,  as  it  rained 
nearly  all  day.  In  the  morning,  curious  long  soft 
white  clouds  went  slowly  creeping  along  the 
Scheinige  Platte,  "like  great  white  Persian  cats," 
said  M.;  and  in  the  evening  they  assembled  in 
force  on  the  top,  and  came  down  in  a  heavy  snow- 
storm. So  we  had  a  quiet  day.  Before  settling  to 
letters  and  work  I  wrote. 

EVENING   TEARS    AND    MORNING    SONGS. 

"  Weeping  may  endure  in  the  evening,  but  singing cometh  in  the  morning."— 
Marginal  reading  of  Psalm  xxx.  5. 

In  the  evening  there  is  weeping, 
Lengthening  shadows,  failing  sight, 

Silent  darkness,  slowly  creeping 
Over  all  things  dear  and  bright. 

In  the  evening  there  is  weeping, 

Lasting  all  the  twilight  through; 
Phantom  sorrows,  never  sleeping, 

Wakening  slumbers  of  the  true. 


46  SWISS   LETTERS. 

In  the  morning  cometh  singing 

Cometh  joy,  and  cometh  sight, 
When  the  sun  ariseth,  bringing 

Healing  on  his  wings  of  light. 

In  the  evening  cometh  singing, 

Songs  that  ne'er  in  silence  end, 
Angel  minstrels  ever  bringing 

Praises  new  with  thine  to  blend. 

Are  the  twilight  shadows  casting 

Heavy  glooms  upon  thy  heart  ? 
Soon  in  radiance  everlasting 

Night  for  ever  shall  depart. 

Art  thou  weeping,  sad  and  lonely, 
Through  the  evening  of  thy  days  ? 

All  thy  sighing  shall  be  only 
Prelude  of  more  perfect  praise. 

Darkest  hour  is  nearest  dawning, 

Solemn  herald  of  the  day ; 
Singing  cometh  in  the  morning, 

God  shall  wipe  thy  tears  away. 

June  20.  Sunday  at  Interlachen. 
The  service  for  the  Queen's  accession  was  used 
at  the  English  church  with  the  Communion  ser- 
vice; text,  Mat.  22:  21,  " Render  unto  Caesar,"  etc. 
All  was  orderly  and  nice;  moreover  we  had  reason- 
able chants  and  no  galloping.  The  evening  service 
was  at  six;  text  from  the  first  lesson.  A  showery 
day  ended  in  a  splendid  evening,  and  when  we 
came  out  of  church  the  Jungfrau  was  glowing  with 
that  indescribable  tint,  golden  snow  with  a  touch  of 


SUNDAY  AT  INTER  LA  CHEW.  47 

rose,  shining  out  between  two  dark  heights  mag- 
nificent in  purple  and  green  and  bronze,  with  a  cor- 
onet of  the  fresh  snow  lingering  on  their  summits, 
and  the  shadows  of  the  western  mountains  dark- 
ening the  fir  woods  of  their  base  and  sides.  I 
overheard  a  little  girl. say,  "Mamma,  I  think  the 
Jungfrau  would  do  to  form  the  great  white  throne 
of  God."  That  expresses  it.  Later  we  had  quite 
a  treat:  an  American  lady,  one  of  two  couples 
who  have  sat  next  us  at  dinner,  came  down  at 
my  entreaty  to  sing.  She  gave  Mendelssohn's 
"  Oh  that  I  had  wings  of  a  dove  "  very  beautifully, 
and  "But  thou  didst  not  leave,"  and  "Come  unto 
Him."  I  was  positively  thankful  for  her  music,  as 
the  news  had  just  reached  us  of  that  horrid  wicked 
bill  having  passed  the  Lords,  and  one  needed  a 
little  soothing  after  that.* 

Mutual  acquaintances  always  do  turn  up;  so, 
though  I  only  know  two  people  in  all  America, 
she  knew  one  of  them,  Dr.  Lowell  Mason,  and  was 
distantly  connected  with  him  by  marriage,  and  had 
been  in  his  singing  classes.  She  had  greatly  en- 
joyed English  cathedral  services,  but  thought  it  a 
great  mistake  to  introduce  anything  of  the  sort 
into  parish  churches,  or  indeed  into  America  at 
all;  they  belonged  to  the  real  old  cathedrals,  and 
should  never  be  separated  from  them. 

*  The  bill  for  the  Disestablishment  of  the  Irish  Church. 


48  SWISS   LETTERS. 

June  21.     Weatherbound  at  Interlachen. 

Certainly  the  shortest  longest  day  I  ever  spent! 
It  poured  from  morning  till  night,  but  we  resigned 
ourselves  to  it,  and  had  a  very  pleasant  day.  A 
German  gentleman  asked. H.  C.  to  play  chess, 
which  he  did;  and  I  had  two  games  also,  and 
found  him  the  best  player  I  had  ever  met,  and 
the  most  rapid;  it  was  quite  a  treat  to  see  his 
instantaneous  pounce  on  the  right  man,  and  his 
unhesitating  setting  of  it  in  the  right  place.  He 
played  again  in  the  evening  with  H.  C,  and  then 
with  M.  L.  He  also  plays  the  flute,  and  I  accom- 
panied him  for  an  hour  or  more.  We  had  a  good 
deal  of  music  and  talk  in  the  evening.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Fane,  whom  we  met  at  Thun  and  Lauter- 
brunnen,  make  themselves  very  agreeable.  Some 
German  ladies,  including  a  nice  little  girl,  seemed 
delighted  with  the  music  and  thanked  me  warmly. 
After  I  had  sung  "  O  rest  in  the  Lord,"  a  Scotch 
lady  came  and  talked  to  me  most  refreshingly. 
She  had  just  met  Dr.  Guthrie  at  Lucerne,  and 
talked  about  the  Sunday  Magazine;  and  we 
got  on  so  well  that  after  a  while  I  introduced 
"  F.  R.  H."  to  her,  whom  she  knew  perfectly 
well,  and  gave  me  a  hearty  invitation  to  visit 
her  at  Falkirk. 

The  "portier"  at  the  Jungfraublick  is  quite  a 


INTERLACHEN  TO    GIESSBACH.  49 

character;  he  superintends  arrivals,  letters,  and 
money  matters,  and  sits  in  an  office  in  uniform.  I 
left  my  "Ministry  of  Song"  downstairs  one  night, 
and  in  the  morning  I  found  the  portier  reading  it. 
When  we  came  again  M.  had  put  a  "pro  bono 
publico"  copy  in  the  reading  room,  and  this  he 
carried  off  likewise,  and  asked  me  if  he  might 
keep  it  till  we  left,  as  he  could  read  English,  and 
was  so  fond  of  poetry,  and  thought  mine  "most 
beautiful ! "  He  said  his  wife  had  a  pension  near 
Geneva,  at  which  Russians  stayed;  also  he  knew 
Longfellow  personally  and  poetically,  and  admired 
him  extremely  in  both  respects,  and  knew  many 
of  his  poems  by  heart,  and  quoted  part  of  the 
"  Psalm  of  Life,"  to  prove  his  words  I  suppose. 

June  22.      INTERLACHEN  TO   GlESSBACH.      - 

A  bright  though  threatening  morning,  so  a 
general  exodus  seemed  to  take  place.  We 
steamed  down  the  lake  of  Brienz  to  Giessbach, 
and  as  my  Scotch  friend  was  on  board  we  had  an- 
other talk.  She  gave  me  a  pretty  thought:  we 
spoke  of  cloud-shadows;  "Yes,"  she  said,  "but 
they  are  the  shadow  of  His  chariot,  for  '  He  maketh 
the  clouds  His  chariot.' "  We  went  to  see  the  falls, 
which  are  very  lovely,  a  whole  series  one  above 
another,  at  least  a  dozen,  and  each  a  picture  in 
itself;  but  just  as  we  passed  on  a  little  wooden 


SO  SWISS   LETTERS. 

path  underneath  a  splendid  curved  leap  of  water, 
I  became  faint  and  had  to  turn  back  and  go  to 
bed.  The  others  went  to  see  them  illuminated 
at  9.30,  and  seemed  to  think  the  effect  very  fine. 

June  23.     GlESSBACH  to  Meyringen. 

A  lovely  morning,  and  I  was  able  to  get  up  in 
time  for  the  eleven  o'clock  steamer  to  cross  the 
lake  to  Brienz,  and  then  we  had  a  nine  miles'  drive 
along  the  valley  to  Meyringen.  Although  M.  and 
I  had  both  been  invalids,  curiosity  and  excitement 
seemed  to  do  us  good,  for  we  ventured  down  a 
horrible  and  wonderful  place,  the  "  Finsteraar 
Schlucht,"  or  "Black  gorge  of  the  Aar,"  which 
strangely  enough  none  of  our  guidebooks  men- 
tion, though  we  thought  it  worth  going  miles  to 
see.  It  is  a  sharp  descent,  mostly  by  little 
wooden  steps,  into  what  at  first  looks  like  a  lofty 
cavern,  very  narrow,  the  rock  on  each  side  hol- 
lowed out  in  most  curious  round  or  oval  sweeps, 
with  sharp  jagged  edges  all  bending  over,  and 
quite  or  nearly  meeting  overhead.  It  is  full  of  the 
sound  of  rushing  water,  but  we  saw  none  till  near 
the, bottom,  and  then  the  witch-hole  opens  out 
upon  the  Aar,  tearing  along  apparently  from  no- 
where to  nowhere,  shut  in  by  two  awful  walls  of 
rock  five  hundred  feet  high,  with  just  room  enough 
below  for  the   narrow  strong  river  and  a  beach 


MEYRINGEN    TO   ROSENLAUI.  51 

like  the  sea,  three  or  four  yards  wide  on  one 
side,  and  the  rocks  overhanging  so  much  that 
there  is  the  merest  little  slit  of  sky.  Said  M., 
"We  have  got  into  Dante!"  How  we  ever  got 
up  the  stones  and  steps  again  I  don't  know;  but 
we  revivified  with  some  red  wine  at  a  little  au- 
berge  close  by,  and  so  got  home;  and  I  had  a 
delicious  sleep  of  nearly  ten  hours. 

June  24.    Meyringen  to  Rosenlaui. 

At  last  M.  yielded  to  a  chaise  a  porteur,  inas- 
much as  the  guidebook  describes  the  first  of  the 
ascent  to  Rosenlaui  as  a  "  ruined  stair  two  thou- 
sand feet  long."  We  rode,  and  these  Swiss 
horses  would  go  up  St.  Paul's  or  the  Pyramids 
apparently.  After  some  time  the  ascent  was 
less  stiff,  the  path  leading  along  the  side  of  an 
upland  valley,  with  the  Reichenbach  roaring  be- 
low, and  fine  precipices  rising  straight  from  its 
edge  on  the  other  side;  the  last  part  of  the  way 
was  level,  and  might  have  been  any  English 
valley  with  a  brook  at  the  bottom,  but  for  the 
sight  of  the  Wellhorn  rising  in  front,  with  a 
glimpse  of  glacier  through  a  cloud  at  its  side. 
The  Rosenlaui  glacier  is  diminishing  so  rapidly 
that  an  immense  basin  of  rock,  which  took  us 
nearly  half  an  hour  to  skirt,  was  full  of  ice  only 
twelve  years  ago.     As  we  returned  we  thought 


52  SWISS   LETTERS. 

we  should  like  a  canter,  and  told  the  guide  we 
would  wait  for  him  before  the  descent  began; 
but  he  scorned  the  idea  of  being  waited  for,  he 
liked  a  run  as  well  as  we,  any  pace  was  all  the 
same  to  him.  Whatever  H.  C.  rides  is  sure  to 
go,  and  my  pretty  grey  four-year-old  pony  was 
quite  of  our  mind  as  to  a  canter;  but  our  guide 
was  equal  to  anything,  and  raced  and  laughed 
and  leaped  the  boggy  bits  with  his  alpenstock 
without  regard  for  his  limbs  or  lungs.  We  went 
round  by  the  Reichenbach  falls;  and  now  for  a 
piece  of  unmitigated  heresy.  I  am  inclined  to 
class  waterfalls  among  the  good  things  of  which 
one  can  have  too  much !  I  calculated  on  silence 
among  these  mountains;  and  instead  of  it,  one 
has  to  shout  to  be  heard  above  the  noise.  Every 
valley  has  its  roar  and  rush  of  water,  with  a 
cataract  every  two  or  three  hundred  yards,  leap- 
ing to  join  the  chorus  of  torrents  below,  from 
the  chorus  of  torrents  above,  and  making  one 
appreciate  Wordsworth's  line,  which  I  used  to 
think  far-fetched: 

"The  cataracts  blow  their  trumpets  from  the  steep." 

i 

All  night  long  you  hear  it,  and  clearer  and  louder 
than  by  day.  From  our  window  at  Meyringen 
five    separate    waterfalls   were   within    sight    and 


ME  YR TNG  EN    TO    LUCERNE.  53 

sound.  It  is  a  sad  case  of  nerves  versus  poetry, 
and  will  go  far  to  prove  the  truth  with  which  a 
chaplain  hereabout  took  my  measure,  his  con- 
clusion being  that  I  was  "very  matter  of  fact,  and 
had  no  poetry  in  me ! " 

June  25.     MEYRINGEN  TO  LUCERNE. 

We  chartered  a  return  carriage  from  Meyringen 
to  Lucerne  with  four  horses,  and  built  to  carry  ten 
persons,  so  we  had  room  enough  !  This  was  again 
a  fine  morning,  though  hazy,  and  the  passing  mag- 
nificence of  that  drive  over  the  Briinig,  with  the 
valley  of  Meyringen  at  our  feet  and  the  Oberland 
giants  beyond,  is  one  of  the  scenes  least  likely  to 
be  forgotten.  Our  mid-day  halt  at  Sarnen  and 
the  glimpse  up  the  Melchthal  took  one  back  into 
the  old  days,  or  rather  into  Schiller's  revivification 
of  them.  The  last  ten  miles  lay  along  the  lake  of 
Lucerne,  round  the  base  of  Pilatus;  but  it  was  not 
a  clear  evening,  and  my  first  impression  was  one 
of  extreme  disappointment.  It  was  lovely  no 
doubt,  but  on  such  a  small  scale  compared  to  the 
Alps  behind  us,  and  I  had  given  my  allegiance  so 
utterly  to  them,  that  I  could  not  instantly  transfer 
it  to  anything  so  different.  Snow  mountains  are 
not  less  to  me  now  than  in  my  child  dreams,  and 
Lucerne  is  a  town  !  so  I  did  not  take  kindly  to  it. 


54  SIV/SS    LETTERS. 


June  26.    At  the  Schweizerhof  Hotel, 
Lucerne. 

The  weather  seems  settling  at  last,  and  it  is 
fine  and  even  hot.  We  were  to  do  nothing  to-day, 
and  unhappily  it  occurred  to  me  to  go  and  assist 
at  the  practice  in  the  English  church,  so  we 
utterly  wasted  an  hour  and  a  half's  sunshine  in 
trying  over  tunes  and  listening  to  remarks  of  the 
usual  calibre  of  amateur  choirs.  Somebody  tried 
over  a  "new  tune,"  melody  meagre  and  entirely 
secular,  running  chiefly  in  thirds,  and  spiced  up 
with  absurd  and  unnecessary  accidentals;  and  this 
was  pronounced  "simply  exquisite"!  And  the 
rest  to  match. 

Our  table  d'hote  was  accompanied  by  a  very 
charming  string  quartette.  I  subjoin  the  "Menu 
Musicale." 

Soupe  royale:  to  potpourri  from  Donizetti. 

Salmon  trout  with  Dutch  sauce  and  potatoes: 
to  a  lively  and  pretty  waltz. 

Roast  beef  and  lettuce:  to  a  fine  solid  thing  of 
Mendelssohn's. 

Calf's  head  en  tortzie:  to  a  set  of  rubbishy 
quadrilles. 

Mutton  and  green  peas  mashed:  to — silence. 


A  T  THE  SCHWEIZERHOF  HO  TEL,  L  UCERNE.     5  5 

Spinach  and  eggs  a  la  cremc:  to  Gounod's 
Berceuse. 

Chicken  and  salad:  to  a  plaintive  and  sweet 
violin  air. 

Lemon  pudding:  to  Soldier's  March  in  Faust. 

Gateau  Pithiviers  and  compote  de  pommes\  to 
a  waltz  by  Strauss. 

Dessert:  to  another  waltz  by  Strauss. 

We  had  a  hot  walk  above  the  town,  and  a 
lovely  soft  view  of  the  lake.  Then  we  went  to 
find  the  Lion  of  Lucerne,  and  when  we  came 
upon  it  I  stood  fascinated;  not  merely  with  the 
wonderful  sculpture,  but  with  the  perfect  effect 
of  the  whole  thing.  You  come  suddenly  from 
the  glare  above,  or  the  clatter  of  the  road  below, 
into  a  deep  quiet  nook,  shut  in  by  large  shady 
trees  with  a  wide  opening  in  their  foliage  through 
which  the  afternoon  sun  falls  upon  the  lion  cut 
in  the  living  rock.  Close  below  is  a  dark  pool 
in  which  it  is  reflected  beautifully.  The  grey 
rock  rises  perpendicularly  some  little  height 
above,  and  ends  in  a  crown  of  acacias  and  droop- 
ing bushes  and  creepers. 

A  photograph  of  the  lion  gives  no  idea  at  all 
of  the  sentiment  of  the  place,  which  is  sacred  and 
still,  and  almost  solemnly  beautiful.  It  is  a  me- 
morial of  Swiss  fidelity,  and  a  worthy  one. 


56  SWISS   LETTERS. 

June  27.    Sunday  at  Lucerne. 

The  English  chaplain  proved  a  great  stick,  or 
rather  a  little  stick,  so  in  the  evening  we  went 
to  the  Scotch  service  in  a  Roman  Catholic  church. 
We  had  a  nice  sermon  on  John  xrv.  27,  and  the 
simple,  full  evangelical  truth  we  heard  contrasted 
strangely  with  a  great  gold-lettered  shield  above 
the  altar  ("  Hilft  Maria,  hilf!")  (Help,  Mary, 
help  ! ) 

The  cathedral  bells  here  are  grand,  filling  the 
air  with  confused  thundering  resonance,  massive 
and  almost  awful,  yet  magnificently  beautiful;  a 
fit  accompaniment  to  the  majesty  of  snow  mount- 
ains, in  presence  of  which  any  other  sounds  of 
human  production  would  be  puny  and  impertinent. 

One  part  of  the  Lucerne  cemetery  was  most 
touching,  it  was  set  aside  for  the  little  children. 
Row  after  row  of  tiny  graves,  with  loving  sorrow- 
ing inscriptions,  some  with  little  white  marble 
crosses  simply  twined  with  ivy,  all  with  carefully 
tended  flowers  and  shrubs  proportioned  to  the 
size  of  the  little  graves. 

June  28.    Lucerne  to  the  Rigi. 

What  could  promise  better?  All  the  natives 
prophesying  settled  fine  weather  and  a  regular 
sunrise  glow  over  mountains  and  lake,  moreover 


LUCERNE    TO    THE    RIGL  57 

the  little  cloud  upon  Pilatus  which  is  supposed  to 
make  all  safe  ! 

We  had  a  pleasant  hour's  sail  to  Kiissnacht,  and 
struck  up  with  a  clever  and  amusing  man,  a  friend 
of  Prof.  Tyndall's,  who  travels  with  his  eyes  open 
as  to  physical  science,  and  gave  us  a  good  deal  of 
desultory  but  interesting  information  and  observa- 
tion in  that  line.  The  ride  up  was  very  pleasant, 
with  a  grandly  widening  horizon  with  occasional 
fine  views  of  the  picturesque  outline  of  Pilatus. 
On  this  (north)  side  of  the  Rigi  we  see  several 
lakes,  especially  Zug,  blue  as  a  harebell.  For  the 
last  twenty  minutes  we  change  sides,  and  have  the 
south  view.  The  panorama  from  the  very  top  is 
immense,  but  I  do  not  count  it  among  the  impres- 
sions of  my  life;  however  our  afternoon  was  de- 
lightful, strolling  at  leisure  all  about  the  top, 
gathering  flowers  and  enjoying  the  views  and  the 
air.  Heavy  clouds  hung  over  the  distant  mount- 
ains, but  the  sun  was  bright,  and  the  general  haze 

hardly  made  it  less  beautiful.    Towards  seven  p.m. 

* 

everyone  began  to  move  towards  the  top,  probably 
about  two  hundred  people.  Then  came  an  excite- 
ment of  hopes  and  fears  for  the  sunset;  would  it 
clear,  would  the  clouds  rise,  should  we  see  the 
afterglow  ?  Xo  !  The  sun  went  down  into  a  bank 
of  clouds,  and  the  Bernese  Oberland  did  not  reveal 
itself.    I  stayed  a  long  while  after,  part  of  the  time 


58  SWISS   LETTERS. 

alone.  Suddenly  a  cloud  rushed  up  from  nowhere 
and  hid  everything;  in  a  few  minutes  it  was  gone 
again  like  a  grey  spirit,  leaving  no  trace  or  trail, 
gone  nowhere  !  Tremulous  lightning  was  playing 
in  a  far-off  low  cloud  towards  Zurich,  and  once  a 
quiver  of  light  over  the  Alps  gave  hopes  of  a 
display;  but  all  gradually  calmed  and  darkened 
away. 

June  29.     RlGI  KULM  TO  LUCERNE. 

At  3.30  a.m.  a  queer  horn,  woefully  out  of  tune, 
played  up  and  down  the  stairs  and  passages.  We 
had  arranged  everything  over  night  to  save  every 
possible  minute  in  the  morning,  and  so  were  almost 
the  first  on  the  top,  looking  "down  upon  an  arctic 
sea,  white  downy  undulations  of  cloud  about  two 
hundred  feet  below  us,  covering  hills  and  lakes  and 
plains  in  one  billowy  sea,  out  of  which  rose  a  few 
rocky  islands,  of  which  the  Rigi  itself  was  one,  and 
Pilatus  the  most  noticeable.  The  Alps  bounded  it 
like  a  shore,  but  hazy  and  clouded.  The  sun  rose 
from  a  cloud,  and  was  far  too  late  in  appearing  to 
effect  anything  in  the  rose-tint  line  tupon  the 
mountain  coast,  but  it  did  cast  a  stream  of  faint 
pink  for  a  few  moments  upon  the  silent  polar  sea 
at  our  feet.  In  the  bedrooms  was  a  notice  to 
"  Messieurs  les  voyageurs,"  praying  them  not  to 
take  out  blankets  and  bedclothes  for  the  sunrise, 


LUCERNE    TO    A  LTD  ORE.  59 

which  was  not  unlikely  to  put  it  into  their  heads. 
In  spite  of  this  there  were  three  or  four  barefaced 
blankets,  one  worn  by  a  lady.  All  the  wearers,  as 
I  expected,  spoke  the  German  tongue. 

The  beds  were  not  luxurious,  notwithstanding 
spring  mattresses  and  down  quilts,  for  the  sheets 
were  cold  and  clammy,  and  horrid  to  a  degree. 
"No  wonder,"  said  M.  L.,  "when  they  dry  them 
in  the  clouds;  I  saw  them  at  it ! "  And  when  we 
passed  the  neat  little  hotel,  Rigi-Staffel,  at  eight 
a.m.  in  a  dense  cloud  they  were  hanging  out 
sheets  on  lines  for  the  benefit  of  the  next  comers. 
We  had  a  three  hours'  walk  down  to  Weggis 
entirely  through  cloud,  with  a  chaise  a  porteur 
between  us.  Yet  there  was  the  lake  below  and 
mountains  before  us,  and  all  sorts  of  beauty 
around  us.     Only  we  could  not  see ! 

June  30.  Lucerne  to  Altdorf. 

A  very  threatening  morning,  which  gradually 
developed  into  a  tolerable  day,  with  pretty  gleams 
on  the  shores  of  the  lake;  the  higher  summits  were 
invisible.  We  walked  through  the  two  covered 
bridges,  which  have  paintings  in  the  roof  of  scenes 
from  Swiss  history,  and  then  took  the  9.40  steamer. 
It  is  a  very  lovely  three  hours'  sail  by  Brunnen, 
the  Grutli  meadow,  and  Tell's  Chapel  to  Fluellen; 
then  we  drove  two  miles  to  Altdorf,  and  saw  the 


60  SWISS   LETTERS. 

•fountains  where  Tell  and  his  child  stood,  and  went 
to  the  entrance  of  the  St.  Gotthard  pass,  returning 
to  Lucerne  by  the  same  route;  but  I  have  not 
time  for  detailed  description.  I  had  my  little 
"  Wilhelm  Tell,"  and  read  a  few  scenes,  especially 
the  Griitli  one;  but  actually  found  it  too  exciting, 
and  was  obliged  to  give  it  up.  I  had  no  idea 
before  what  power  that  sort  of  poetry  possesses. 

July  i.    Lucerne  to  Langnau. 

A  little  sunshine  early  in  the  morning  and  even- 
ing, but  otherwise  gloomy  and  grey.  We  drove 
nearly  forty  miles  through  the  Emmenthal,  said  to 
be  the  most  fertile  part  of  Switzerland,  a  very 
pretty  country,  but  nothing  distinctively  Swiss 
except  the  houses  with  their  enormously  over- 
hanging roofs  and  curious  wooden  coat-of-mail 
walls,  little  bits  of  wood  nailed  over  each  other 
with  rounded  ends.  This  is  an  unusual  cross 
country  route,  and  the  Hotel  Emmenthal  was  in 
striking  contrast  to  the  palace  we  left  at  Lucerne. 
The  waitress  looked  amazed  when  we  asked  for 
extra  spoons  to  attack  our  cupless  eggs,  and  re- 
turned with  one  spoon  for  all  of  us  !  I  like  an 
out  of  the  way  place,  and  specially  rejoice  in  not 
having  to  dress  up  for  the  evening.  The  Schweit- 
zer Hof  was  too  grand  for  me,  and  where  there  are 
so  very  many  people  one  is  far  more  isolated; 


LANGNAU    TO    FRIBOURG.  6 1 

moreover  there  was  a  tantalizingly  good  piano 
in  a  splendid  saloon  with  just  the  right  resonance, 
but  it  was  too  much  even  for  my  audacity  to  sit 
down  to  it,  before  fifty  people  at  least. 

July  2.     LANGNAU  TO  FRIBOURG. 

A  journey  by  rail,  not  specially  interesting; 
and  being  cloudy,  we  could  not  see  the  Oberland 
as  we  ought  to  have  done. 

A  very  enthusiastic  Swiss  lady  (an  acquaintance 
of  the  Malans)  raved  about  her  Swiss  mountains 
most  charmingly.  I  like  to  find  the  Swiss  appre- 
ciating their  privileges.  Our  guard  from  Langnau 
to  Berne  appeared  also  quite  alive  to  the  beauties 
of  nature.  He  came  into  the  carriage  on  the  way, 
and  held  up  an  awfully  cut  thumb,  appealing  to 
me  for  the  chance  of  getting  doctored.  He  had 
just  had  an  accident  with  the  break;  luckily  I  had 
a  sponge  and  rag  at  hand,  and  made  a  tidy  job 
of  it  for  him.  He  was  very  grateful,  and  kept 
coming  to  us  all  the  rest  of  the  way  to  point  out 
views  and  any  places  of  interest.  At  Fribourg 
we  had  a  fine  evening,  and  a  curious  view  of  the 
deep  gorge  containing  the  old  town,  spanned  by 
two  long  suspension  bridges.  These  vibrate  even 
to  the  tread,  and  a  passing  vehicle  makes  them 
almost  swing. 

A    little    before    eight    p.m.    we    went    to   the 


62  SWISS   LETTERS. 

thedral.  M.  had  brought  papa's  "  Forty  Speci- 
mens of  the  Grand  Chant"  to  give  to  the  organ- 
ist. Two  years  ago,  when  papa  wTas  here,  he 
sent  up  his  "  Morning  and  Evening  Hymn  "  (the 
one  which  is  played  backwards,  or  forwards, 
and  turns  upside  down)  to  M.  Vogt,  who  in- 
troduced it  forthwith  into  his  extemporiza- 
tions, and  rendered  it  very  appreciatively.  So 
having  received  the  little  book  which  M.  gave 
the  verger  for  him,  he  very  politely  came  to  us 
and  thanked  M.  for  it.  He  looks  about  sixty,  is 
short  and  stout,  with  a  remarkable  forehead  and 
keen  and  full  dark  eyes.  I  asked  him  what  he 
was  going  to  play.  He  said  :  "  First  something 
from  Mendelssohn,  then  a  toccata  of  Bach's; 
after  that,"  he  added,  with  a  look  of  scorn  and 
wave  of  his  hand,  "  something,  more  for  the 
public  "  (EtivaSy  mehr  fur  das  Publikum  !  ). 
Mendelssohn  was  a  strange  plaintive  minor 
piece,  a  wailing  of  voices  far  and  near,  very 
striking.  Bach  did  not  come  next,  but  a  soft 
piece,  I  think  extempore.  Then  came  the  Bach, 
unmistakably  grand  and  masterly;  and  Vogt 
played  it  as  if  he  revelled  in  it,  as  if  he  mastered 
it  and  it  mastered  him,  which  is  a  necessary  para- 
dox in  true  musical  rendering.  Then  came  the 
sop  to  the  " Publikum,"  first  Rossini's  "Prayer  of 
Moses "   and    then    extemporization,   introducing 


LANGNAU    TO    FRIBOURG.  63 

some  astonishing  thunder  and  showing  off  the 
ninety-seven  stops,  including  a  good  deal  of  sing- 
ing from  the  vox  humana.  The  power  of  the 
organ  is  astonishing,  and  the  pianissimo  contrasts 
hardly  less  so.  Still  on  the  whole  the  Lucerne 
organ  performance  does  not  seem  so  very  far 
behind,  especially  in  the  more  perfect  illusion  of 
the  vox  humana,  and  in  its  more  complete  and 
natural  thunderstorm.  On  these  points  we  gave 
the  palm  unhesitatingly  to  Lucerne.  There  the 
thunderstorm  was  almost  real,  first  the  far  off 
growl  among  the  mountains,  then  the  gradual 
approach,  the  moaning  gusts  of  wind,  the  nearer 
rumble,  the  distant  echo,  then  the  sudden 
awful  crash  overhead,  and  the  burst  of  rain, 
suddenly  ceasing  again;  then,  as  the  peals  re- 
ceded, a  most  perfect  quartet  was  heard  singing 
"  Hanover,"  beautifully  harmonized  and  in  perfect 
chorale  time,  one  could  hardly  divest  oneself  of 
the  idea  that  it  was  really  a  vocal  quartet,  only 
just  too  far  off  to  catch  the  words,  which  must  be 
Psalm  civ.,  "  My  soul,  praise  the  Lord."  As  one 
listened  the  voices  came  a  little  nearer,  the  thun- 
"der  died  away  into  the  faintest  peals,  seeming  to 
come  from  behind  the  mountains,  the  wail  of  the 
wind  ceased  altogether,  the  voices  died  into  a 
sweet  lovely  close  and  then  a  most  exquisite  flute 
stop  predominated  in  a  concluding  symphony  of 


64  SWISS   LETTERS. 

perfectly  enchanting  sweetness.  We  had  nothing 
to  compare  with  this  at  Fribourg;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  had  nothing  at  Lucerne  to  com- 
pare with  the  Bach  toccata,  either  as  to  organ 
or  organist. 

One  never  gets  perfection,  or  if  one  approaches 
it,  it  vanishes;  and  so  here:  we  were  rejoicing 
in  the  dreamlike,  ideal  effect  of  darkness  fall- 
ing upon  the  cathedral  while  the  music  was 
going  on,  shadows  growing  deeper,  roof  and 
aisle  darkening  into  mysterious  grand  gloom,  no 
light  but  a  faint  paleness  through  the  tracery  of 
the  windows,  one  tiny  lamp  like  a  star  near  the 
altar,  and  a  sort  of  veiled  glimmer  from  the  organ- 
loft  just  quivering  up  to  the  great  pipes  and 
suggesting  a  hidden  source  of  life  and  power 
somewhere  among  them  ;  it  was  precisely  what 
one  imagined  as  the  right  scene  for  such  sounds, 
— when  up  stalks  an  odious  old  verger,  with 
creaking  shoes  and  a  horrid  flaring  lamp,  and 
lights  two  vile  great  candles,  one  on  the  pillar 
just  over  our  heads  and  the  other  just  opposite, 
right  in  our  eyes  !     Such  is  life.* 

*  This  was  poor  old  Vogt's  very  last  thunderstorm.  A  few 
days  after  we  heard  of  a  grand  musical  funeral  service  for  the 
organist  of  Fribourg.  We  heard  him  on  Friday  evening,  July 
2;  on  Saturdays  there  is  not  any  performance ;  on  Sunday  he 
played  the  usual  services  in  his  usual  health;  on  Monday  he  died 
suddenly. 


SUNDAY  AT    VEVEY.  65 

July  3.    Fribourg  to  Vevey. 

Heavy  rain  and  fog  all  day,  through  which  we 
went  by  rail  to  Lausanne,  imagining  the  Jura  to 
the  north,  and  Alps  to  the  south,  and  the  Lake 
of  Geneva  where  the  fog  hung  thickest,  excellent 
practice  for  the  imaginative  faculty!  At  Lau- 
sanne we  drove  to  the  Cathedral,  a  plain,  awk- 
ward affair,  but  said  to  be  the  finest  in  Switzer- 
land. (The  Swiss  have  natural  temples,  and 
have  troubled  themselves  little  about  architec- 
tural beauty  in  contrast  with  the  Belgians,  who 
have  cathedrals  instead  of  mountains.)  It  is  fitted 
up  with  plain  wooden  benches,  and  must  accom- 
modate a  large  congregation.  The  sacristan  said 
the  attendance  entirely  depended  on  the  preacher. 
There  are  five  pasteurs,  who  preach  in  turn  at  this 
and  the  other  churches,  but  there  is  only  one  ser- 
vice, and  that  at  nine  a.m.  We  came  on  to  Vevey 
to  the  Hotel  Monnet,  which  seems  to  combine  the 
attractions  of  our  previous  favorites;  and,  as  it  left 
off  raining  for  an  hour,  we  had  a  little  walk  by 
the  lake,  and  concluded  it  must  be  a  perfectly 
delicious  place  in  anything  like  ordinary  weather. 

July  4.    Sunday  at  Vevey. 

To  Swiss  (French)  service  at  9.30  with  M.  The 
church  commands  a  splendid  view.     The  service 


66  SWISS   LETTERS. 

commenced  with  the  commandments  read  by  a 
deacon  or  elder  from  the  pulpit,  followed  by  the 
gospel  epitome  of  the  two  tables,  Matthew  xxii. 
27-40.  Then  the  pasteur  went  up  and  read  a 
long  string  of  banns,  each  written  on  a  separate 
sheet,  which  he  deliberately  unfolded  and  folded 
again  into  envelopes,  with  all  their  family  history 
on  each  side.  No  more  Scripture  was  read  ex- 
cept the  text,  "  Thou  art  the  man  ! "  and  the  ser- 
mon was  like  most  foreign  ones,  rather  an  oration 
than  an  exposition.  The  singing  was  in  the  old 
Scotch  fashion,  a  precentor  standing  up  in  a  little 
box  under  the  pulpit,  and  roaring  the  tune  just 
half  a  note  ahead  of  the  congregation.  The  tunes 
themselves  were  probably  good  old  Genevan  ones, 
very  old  church  psalmody  in  style.  The  after- 
noon English  service  was  quick  and  quiet;  not 
remarkable. 

Though  a  lovely  day,  the  mountains  were 
clouded,  and  the  Dent  du  Midi  never  appeared 
till  nearly  sunset,  and  then  the  St.  Bernard 
and  Sugar  Loaf  appeared  and  vanished.  Hotel 
Monnet  has  a  flat  roof  with  seats;  it  is  five 
storeys  high,  so  no  one  seems  to  think  it  worth 
while  to  mount.  Tant  mieux  pour  mot!  It  is 
delightful,  and  I  spent  most  of  my  Sunday  even- 
ing alone  on  it. 


VEVEY    TO    MONTREUX   AND    GLION.  67 

i 

July  5.  Vevey  to  Montreux  and  Glion. 
A  splendid  morning,  and  the  white  clouds  so 
bright  and  soft  that  one  would  hardly  quarrel 
with  them  for  veiling  the  mountains,  though  as 
H.  C.  said,  "  they  were  obstinate."  We  took  a 
boat  to  Clarens,  three  quarters  of  an  hour  over  the 
pearly  blue  water,  then  walked  up  to  the  ceme- 
tery for  the  view.  Here  we  remarked,  as  at 
Lucerne  and  other  places,  the  very  large  propor- 
tion of  comparatively  young  persons,  more  than 
fifty  years  being  quite  exceptional.  Among  the 
English  and  Russian  graves  the  ages  were  still 
lower,  and  told  of  consumption;  so  many  between 
17  and  25,  who  probably  came  here  for  the  mild 
winter  and  never  saw  another  summer.  From 
Clarens  a  lovely  road  took  us  to  Montreux,  where 
we  again  made  for  the  fine  view  from  the  church- 
yard. After  a  rest  and  some  cherries,  we  mounted 
the  hill  to  Glion,  a  little  village  three  quarters  of 
an  hour  higher,  and  the  view  proportionally  finer. 
We  walked  down  and  returned  to  Vevey  by  steam- 
er. At  the  5.30  table  d'hote  I  had  a  long  conver- 
sation in  French  with  a  Swedish  countess,  hand- 
some, polished  and  very  agreeable.  She  talked 
of  Jenny  Lind  and  her  retirement  from  the  stage; 
and  said  it  was  thought  that  Christine  Nilsson 
might  possibly  follow  her  example.    She  described 


68  SWISS   IE  TIERS. 

her  as  being  like  Jenny  in  firmness  and  high 
principle,  and  said  that  the  Parisians  thought  her 
"  trop  sage  et  serieuse,"  and  that  she  better  suited 
the  English  idiosyncrasy.  Later  in  the  evening 
I  was  playing  in  the  nice  little  salon  de  conversa- 
tion, when  my  countess  came  in  and  recognized  the 
"Song  without  Words,"  and  asked  me  for  more. 
So  I  sang  " Comfort  ye."  "That  is  fine  music," 
she  said;  "whose  is  it?"  I  answered  and  ex- 
plained. "  Really  !  so  that  is  from  the  '  Messiah ' ! 
I  never  heard  it.  The  English  are  passiomies,  for 
Handel's  music,  are  they  not  ?"  So  then  I  played 
the  overture  to  "Samson,"  and  sang  "Let  the 
bright  Seraphim."  She  admired  both  extremely; 
it  was  totally  new  to  her;  she  had  never  heard 
Handel  before,  and  thought  he  wrote  chiefly 
church  music!  Yet  she  was  thoroughly  "up'* 
in  Mendelssohn  and  Mozart,  and  knew  all  the 
operas  that  ever  were  written  apparently.  And 
never  heard   Handel ! ! 

July  6.    Vevey  to  St.  Gingolph  and 

VlLLENEUVE. 

A  spree  !  H.  C.  could  not  realize  the  fact  that 
the  opposite  shore  was  seven  miles  off,  and  its 
mountains  eight  thousand  feet  high,  and  thought 
it  would  assist  his  realization  to  row  across.  But 
M.  and  M.  L.  don't  like  boats,  so  they  decided  to 


VEVEY  TO  ST.  GINGOLPH  AND  VILLENEUVE.   69 

rest  for  the  day,  while  I  had  no  objection  to  any- 
thing and  volunteered  to  go  anywhere.  Our  lit- 
tle boat  sported  an  American  flag,  and  a  pretty 
striped  awning,  which  we  were  glad  of  as  the 
sun  was  hot. 

The  mountains  grew  and  grew,  and  seemed  to 
get  larger,  much  faster  than  they  got  nearer;  so 
we  began  to  take  in  the  idea  of  the  seven  miles 
and  the  eight  thousand  feet.  St.  Gingolph  is  made 
no  fuss  about  in  the  guidebooks,  and  consequently 
is  not  prepared  for  tourists  as  yet;  but  we  have 
not  seen  many  things  more  beautiful  than  the 
Gorge  de  la  Morge  at  the  entrance  of  which  it 
lies.  Our  inquiry  for  saddle  horses  or  mules  or 
donkeys  rather  astonished  the  natives  at  the  inn; 
but  they  were  polite,  as  all  the  Swiss  are,  and 
sent  post  haste  to  a  butcher  who  owned  one 
donkey,  and  to  somebody  else  who  was  supposed 
to  have  a  horse.  The  messengers  returned  in  a 
depressed  state  of  mind;  the  horse  could  not  be 
found  at  all,  and  the  donkey  was  gone  to  the 
mountains.  So  we  were  obliged  to  walk,  and  set 
off  up  the  gorge  to  a  certain  village  somewhcrey 
named  Novelles,  which  we  should  reach  if  we 
had  patience  and  perseverance. 

The  said  virtues  were  exercised  for  about  two 
hours  and  a  half,  and  then  were  rewarded  by 
a    village    and    a   most   welcome    auberge.      At 


70  SWISS   LETTERS. 

least  that  was  the  ultimate  reward,  but  there 
were  plenty  of  proximate  ones.  The  valley 
winds  up  between  mountains,  wooded  below,  and 
grand  precipitous  rocks  above,  snow-wreathed 
and  ice-creviced.  The  Morge,  a  wild,  leaping, 
racing  torrent,  rushes  down  to  the  lake,  forming 
the  boundary  between  Savoy  and  the  canton 
de  Vaud.  The  path  was  steep  but  very  lovely; 
visions  of  the  lake  at  every  turn  to  the  left, 
and  visions  of  the  mighty  rocks  above  at  every 
turn  to  the  right,  both  seen  in  a  framing  of 
luxuriant  foliage.  But  it  was  dreadfully  hot, 
and  no  vestige  of  human  life  appeared  turn  after 
turn. 

At  last  the  coming  event  cast  its  shadow  before 
in  the  shape  of  a  chalet,  and  some  haymakers 
whom  we  hailed.  In  their  musical-toned  civility 
they  told  us  the  auberge  was  only  ten  minutes 
farther;  and  a  good  humored  Savoyard  ran  up 
and  told  us  he  was  the  "maitre  de  l'auberge,"  and 
encouraged  us  along,  chatting  most  cheerily.  He 
introduced  us  to  his  domains  in  great  glee  through 
a  rugged  yard,  and  up  what  looked  as  if  it  led  to 
a  henroost,  saying  "Entrez,  mademoiselle!"  to  a 
little  dark  kitchen  with  a  pot  hanging  over  a 
gipsy-like  fire  of  sticks  on  a  great  hearthstone; 
then  another  and  quite  triumphant  u  Entrez  !  "  to 
a  "  salon  "  beyond,  with  three  little  tables  and  six 


VEVEY  TO  ST.  GINGOLPH  AND  VILLENEUVE.   7 1 

little  benches.  He  scampered  about,  getting 
necessaries  together,  with  the  aid  of  his  equally 
good-tempered  but  quieter  helpmeet.  First  he 
produced  a  bottle  of  Swiss  wine,  then  a  loaf  of 
capital  black  bread,  and  a  plate  with  three  funny 
little  cheeses  and  one  knife.  On  second  thoughts 
he  ran  away  and  returned  with  a  sharp-pointed 
pocket  knife,  which  he  deposited  most  engagingly 
before  me.  "Pour  vous,  mademoiselle;  un  joli 
petit  couteau  !"  He  offered  an  egg;  and  while  it 
was  boiling  sent  round  the  village  for  butter,  hoping 
he  could  get  some,  but  the  butter  was  made  half 
an  hour  higher  up  the  mountain.  H.  C.  seemed 
satisfied  now  that  the  eight  thousand  feet  were  no 
myth,  for  he  "should  have  thought  that  walking 
three  hours  straight  up  hill  we  should  have  got  to 
where  they  make  the  butter  !  "  Presently  my  egg 
appeared  in  a  little  brandy  glass,  but  a  spoon  had 
not  occurred  to  him,  and  a  cupboard  had  to  be 
rummaged  to  find  one.  In  course  of  time  the 
butter  arrived,  quite  superlative  and  only  just 
churned,  so  we  were  in  clover. 

I  catechized  him  next  as  to  whether  there  was 
any  mode  of  descent  other  than  our  tired  feet.  On 
this  subject  he  was  sanguine  but  mysterious. 
Mademoiselle  might  trust  him,  he  would  arrange, 
"tout  irait  bien,"  only  a  little  time  was  necessary, 
his   horse  was   gone   to   pasture.     We   were   not 


72  SWISS   LETTERS. 

particular  I  told  him,  a  hay  cart  would  do.  He 
danced  in  and  out  to  keep  us  quiet;  it  would  soon 
be  ready,  mademoiselle  would  be  charmed,  she 
would  laugh  at  his  beautiful  new  carriage,  she 
would  remember  it,  etc.  After  one  of  these  inter- 
vals he  appeared  in  a  clean  white  shirt,  and  told 
us  in  immense  glee  that  the  horse  was  nearly  ready 
except  a  little  glass  of  wine !  He  rushed  into  a 
dark  lumber  room  and  drew  a  glass  from  a  little 
cask,  then  danced  into  the  salon  and  filled  his 
mouth  with  the  remains  of  our  bread  and  cheese, 
while  his  wife  sewed  a  .button  on  his  wristband. 

Outside  the  door  stood,  or  rather  lay,  our  con- 
veyance. Its  foundation  was  a  hay  sledge,  two 
little  wheels  behind  with  two  thick  runners,  joined 
by  rough  crossbars.  On  this  our  host  had  tied  with 
ropes  an  old  wine  chest;  across  it  was  a  plank, 
with  a  manifest  bolster  on  it  as  cushion.  Two  long 
crooked  sticks  were  tied  to  the  runners  for  shafts. 
"Montez,  monsieur,  we  will  go  like  the  chemin  de 
fer,  vous  verrez!"  So  in  we  got;  the  plank  and 
bolster  being  wider  than  the  box,  there  was  room 
enough  to  sit,  while  our  feet  converged  to*a  focus 
of  about  twenty  inches  in  the  narrow  bottom.  He 
waved  his  cap  to  his  wife,  with  whom  he  was 
evidently  on  the  best  of  terms,  and  set  off  full  tear, 
downhill.  It  was  no  use  shouting  "  Doucement !  " 
he  only  looked  round  and  laughed,  and  tugged 


VEVEY  TO  ST.  GINGOLPH AND  VILLENEUVE.   73 

away  at  the  shafts,  over  boulders  and  holes,  and 
swinging  round  corners  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
deep  gully,  till  really  if  we  had  not  been  incapa- 
citated by  laughing  from  either  thinking  or  doing 
anything  else,  we  should  have  been  seriously 
frightened. 

On  retrospect,  I  can't  think  how  we  escaped 
with  whole  bones.  I  never  felt  anything  like  the 
jolting;  our  cheeks  shook  like  jelly.  H.  C.  said 
it  was  complete  electrification.  Our  "horse" 
only  stopped  when  quite  out  of  breath  and  steam- 
ing with  perspiration,  eager  to  know  how  many 
minutes  he  had  been,  and  pluming  himself  on 
his  speed,  and  still  more  on  his  invention.  He 
would  have  it  patented,  and  send  it  to  the  next 
Exposition  and  make  his  fortune,  and  so  forth, 
joking  away  his  breath  so  that  his  next  start  was 
a  trifle  more  moderate.  As  for  admiring  the  val- 
ley (which  he  found  time  to  do,  waving  one  hand 
and  giving  an  extra  tug  with  the  other,  "  Ah  que 
c'est  un  beau  pays,  mais  que  c'est  magnifique ! ") 
it  was  out  of  the  question,  all  we  could  do  was 
to  laugh  and  hold  on,  and  try  to  balance  the 
machine. 

About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  bottom,  just 
as  we  were  getting  used  to  the  said  balancing,  and 
our  steed  perhaps  getting  more  careless,  we  were 
swung  round  a  corner  and  over  some  unexpectedly 


74  SWISS   LETTERS. 

large  stones,  when  suddenly  we  felt  a  most  queer 
giving-way,  earthquaky  sensation,  and  roared  for  a 
halt  simultaneously.  Just  as  the  man  contrived  to 
stop,  the  whole  concern  came  bodily  to  grief,  all 
to  pieces  at  once  in  a  most  surprising  style,  cords 
yielded,  shafts  broke,  nails  came  out,  and  boards 
subsided  into  one  shapeless  heap,  from  which  we 
extricated  ourselves  with  nothing  more  than  a 
bruise  or  two,  laughing  more  than  ever,  for  it  made 
the  thing  so  very  complete  to  have  such  a  proper 
and  thorough  break  down,  it  was  the  only  finishing 
touch  it  wanted.  It  was  no  use  reconstructing 
the  machine,  so  H.  C.  paid  the  man  and  wanted  to 
dismiss  him;  he  knew  well  enough  the  five  francs 
for  which  we  agreed  before  we  saw  the  concern 
was  more  than  the  job  was  worth,  so  he  proposed 
to  go  down  to  St.  Gingolph  to  have  a  bottle  of 
wine  with  us  at  his  own  expense,  as  a  wind  up  of 
accounts  !  He  seemed  rather  hurt  at  his  kind 
invitation  being  declined,  but  soon  got  over  it,  and 
made  his  adieux,  begging  us  to  make  his  compli- 
ments to  all  at  Vevey,  and  inform  them  what  a 
firstrate  carriage  would  be  at  their  disposal  if 
they  would  make  an  excursion  to  Novelles. 

We  got  to  Vevey  just  in  time  to  cram  our 
things  together  and  set  off  by  the  evening  steamer 
to  Hotel  Byron,  another  of  these  Swiss  palaces 
between  Villeneuve  and  Chillon. 


HOTEL  BYRON  TO  CHILLON  AND  B  OWE  RET.   75 

July  7.    Hotel  Byron  to  Chillon  and 
Bouveret. 

Very  hot  and  very  hazy.  Walk  to  Chillon, 
dungeons,  oubliettes,  hall  of  justice,  and  every- 
thing a  la  carte;  every  one  knows  it  all.  But  no 
one  told  me  one  little  thing,  a  surprise  of  color. 
In  the  dungeons,  at  first  seemingly  quite  dark, 
one's  eye  soon  accustomed  itself  to  the  faint  light 
through  the  tiny  slits  in  the  enormous  walls,  and 
then  one  perceived  a  most  singular  reflection 
from  the  blue  lake  on  the  grey  vaulting,  tremu- 
lous and  delicate  and  curiously  metallic,  an  effect 
impossible  to  convey  in  words. 

After  a  broiling  walk  to  the  landing  place  near 
Montreux,  we  boated  across  to  Bouveret  on  the 
other  side  of  the  lake,  crossing  the  mouth  of  the 
Rhone.  Leman  lies  in  azure  peace,  utterly  tran- 
quil and  innocent;  all  at  once  you  are  in  the 
midst  of  a  mighty  wild  brown  roaring  current. 
The  boatmen  say,  "  Don't  be  afraid,  only  sit  still," 
and  they  pull  with  all  their  might.  In  a  minute 
or  two  you  shoot  into  uncontaminated,  still,  blue 
water  again.  The  current  is  so  impetuous,  it 
flows  thus  unmingled  for  a  mile  and  a  half.  It 
suggested  plenty  of  analogies,  but  I  have  no 
time  for  them  here.  We  landed  and  took  a  stroll 
at  Bouveret,  returning  by  boat  to  Hotel  Byron, 


76  SWISS   IETTERS. 

landing-  on  our  way  upon  the  He  de  la  Paix, 
the  "little  isle"  in  "  The  Prisoner  of  Chillon." 
Three  poplars  grow  on  it;  I  send  you  a  specimen 
spray. 

July  8.    Hotel  Byron  to  Martigxy. 

We  went  by  rail  thirteen  miles  up  the  Rhone 
valley  to  Bex,  and  I  rather  wished  George  Ste- 
phenson had  never  been  born  as  we  whisked 
through  the  grand  scenery;  however,  it  was  a 
very  hazy  day,  and  perhaps  but  for  railroads  I 
should  never  have  come  to  Switzerland  at  all !  At 
Bex  we  took  an  open  carriage,  past  St.  Maurice 
and  the  Gorge  du  Trient,  nine  miles.  The  view  up 
the  valley  must  be  magnificent,  but  the  heat  haze 
almost  hid  it;  the  side  views  were  superb,  of  the 
Dent  du  Midi,  10,000  feet  high,  and  of  the 
Dent  de  Morcle,  9,000.  This  Rhone  valley,  at 
least  up  to  St.  Maurice,  is  the  grandest  thing  we 
have  seen,  next  to  my  glorious  Jungfrau. 

In  the  afternoon  we  went  up  the  Gorge  du 
Trient,  at  each  turn  different  and  wonderful.  The 
sun  never  penetrates  some  parts,  and  only  touches 
any  for  about  an  hour.  We  came,  said  the  guide, 
"juste  au  bon  moment,"  sunshine  bringing  out  the 
strange  curves  and  angles  in  strong  relief,  and 
contrasting  the  exquisitely  brilliant  green  of  the 
ferns  and  bushes  wherever  they  could  cling,  with 


MARTIGNY    TO    TETE    NOIRE.  77 

the  depth  of  shade  of  the  caving  rock,  and  the 
cold  grey  rushing  torrent  of  the  Trient.  This 
gorge  is  nine  miles  long,  but  only  passable  by 
gallery  for  half  a  mile.  After  a  scramble  on  the 
rocks  outside,  and  a  rest  in  cooler  air  above,  we 
drove  to  Martigny. 

July  9.    Martigny  to  half  way  through 
Tete   Noire. 

Hot  and  hazy  again;  but  we  discovered  that  the 
haze  belonged  to  the  valleys,  and  the  higher  we 
rose  the  clearer  it  became.  We  took  mules,  and 
had  a  three  hours'  ascent  to  Col  de  Trient;  then 
one  hour's  descent  to  Tete  Noire,  where  we  dined; 
then  another  hour's  descent  to  the  Hotel  des  Cas- 
cades, a  little  white  inn  facing  a  waterfall  down 
a  wild  rocky  gorge,  close  to  the  junction  of  two 
wild  streams.  This  glacier  water  is  a  peculiar 
color,  which  no  word  describes  so  well  as  Job 
vi.  15,  16:  "The  stream  of  brooks  which  are 
blackish  by  reason  of  the  ice,  and  wherein  the 
snow  is  hid."  You  never  see  the  same  "  blackish" 
look  in  any  other  water  but  these  glacier  streams; 
and  "by  reason  of  the  ice  wherein  the  snow  is 
hid "  is  a  wonderful  touch  of  true  and  poetical 
description. 

M.  and  I  both  heard  the  curious  latent  music 
of  the  water  when  our  ear  was  pressed  on  the 


78  SWISS   IETTERS. 

pillow,  "just  like  a  piano,"  she  said,  and  truly! 
It  really  was  like  a  distant  piano  playing  a 
monotonous  yet  sweet  melody,  always  nearly  but 
never  quite  the  same  key  of  G,  and  harmony 
merely  tonic  and  dominant  in  turn,  a  move  of  the 
head  occasionally  producing  the  subdominant  ! 

July  10.    Tete  noire,  col  de  balm, 
Chamouni. 

A  day  after  my  own  heart  !  Breakfast  at  six, 
and  start  on  foot  at  half-past.  A  lovely  fresh 
morning,  making  the  rather  sombre  valley  bright 
and  beautiful.  After  twenty  minutes'  walk  the 
road  took  a  slight  turn. 

"  There  is  Mont  Blanc  !"  shouted  M.  L.,  point- 
ing to  a  little  shoulder  of  white  peering  between 
the  near  hills  and  the  Aiguilles  Rouges,  which 
closed  the  view  ahead. 

"Nonsense  !  "  we  exclaimed,  but  we  hoped  we 
were  wrong. 

"It  is,"  she  persisted;  "clouds  can't  deceive 
me;  that's  Mont  Blanc.     I  know  it  !  " 

A  few  yards  farther  settled  the  question;  in  the 
opening  shone  the  monarch  himself,  up  to  his  very 
crown,  distant  but  majestic,  clear  and  dazzling. 
And  I  knew  that  my  allegiance  must  be  trans- 
ferred from  the  Jungfrau,  that  henceforth  she  was 
only  second.     Every  half  mile  gave  us  more  of 


TETE  NOIRE,    COL   DE   BALM,    C HA  MO  UNI.     79 

the  snow  glories  for  which  I  have  been  absolutely 
hungering,  more  aiguilles,  more  shining  whiteness. 
Mountains,  real  ones,  are  more  to  me  than  any 
other  created  thing;  the  gentle  loveliness  of 
lake  scenery  or  forest,  or  pastoral  picturesqueness, 
is  delightful;  but  nothing  sends  the  thrill  all 
through  one's  very  soul  that  these  mountains 
do.  It  is  just  the  difference  between  the  Har- 
monious Blacksmith  on  a  piano,  and  the  Hallelujah 
Chorus  from  a  grand  orchestra.  One  day  among 
the  mountains  is  worth  many  of  other  beautiful 
scenery;  I  say  among  advisedly,  for  a  far  off  view 
is  not  the  same  thing;  it  is  the  difference  between 
anticipation  and  possession,  future  and  present. 
However  beautiful  a  distant  view  may  be,  one 
wants  to  be  nearer,  to  be  there.  It  would  be  well 
if  all  instinct  of  anticipation  were  as  true  and  as 
truly  to  be  satisfied  as  this  ! 

A  rapid  descent  fronting  the  glacier  of  Argen- 
tine brought  us  to  the  village  of  St.  Pierre  at 
9.30,  after  a  walk  of  seven  miles  and  a  half  with 
occasional  rests. 

After  a  decidedly  severe  dejeuner  we  set  off  on 
mules  to  the  Col  de  Balm,  which  is  just  seven  thou- 
sand feet  high.  Though  clouds  were  thick  on  the 
mountains,  and  a  haze  filled  the  valley,  the  view 
toward  Chamouni  was  magnificent.  I  might  as 
well  have  sat  backwards  at  once,  for  my  head  felt 


80  SWISS   LETTERS. 

nearly  wrenched  off  with  turning  it  behind.  About 
half  way  up  we  had  perhaps  the  grandest  idea  of 
Mont  Blanc,  towering  with  an  inconceivably  ma- 
jestic sweep  of  outline  above  everything  else. 

From  the  top  of  the  Col  de  Balm,  which  is  a 
pass  over  the  lowest  dip  of  the  great  mountain 
wall,  we  ought  to  have  seen  the  Rhone  valley  and 
away  to  the  Great  St.  Bernard;  but  on  that  side 
we  only  looked  down  and  away  into  mist.  After 
refreshing  ourselves  at  the  chalet,  we  wandered  to 
some  great  snow  patches  just  for  the  pleasure  of 
walking  into  it  on  the  ioth  of  July.  M.  said  she 
should  "eat  some  snow  and  then  go  to  sleep  on 
the  gentianellas,"  which  I  literally  did.  The  sun 
was  blazingly  hot,  though  the  air  was  cool,  and 
our  cloaks  were  only  needed  for  pillows. 

After  our  rest  H.  C,  M.  L.,  and  I  went  up  a 
summit  above  the  Col  de  Balm,  which  commands 
one  of  the  most  sublime  and  perfect  panoramas  in 
the  world  I  should  think.  Here  the  grandest 
mountains  in  Europe  are  pressing  close  around 
you,  a  perfect  abyss  into  the  Tete  Noire  on  one 
side,  the  perfectly  graceful  sweep  of  the  valley  of 
Chamouni  on  the  other,  aiguilles  that  defy  the 
Alpine  Club,  glaciers  between  and  below  them, 
linking  the  winter  above  with  the  summer  below, 
all  one  ever  dreamt  of  Alpine  splendors  crowded 
into  one  scene  and  oneself  in  the  very  centre  of 


TkTE  NOIRE,    COL  DE  BALM,    CHAMOUNI.      8 1 

it,  far  above  the  waterfalls  and  the  noisy  torrents, 
far  away  from  the  chatter  and  clatter  of  tourists; 
what  if  one  did  see  it  at  some  disadvantage  as  to 
the  list  of  peaks  which  ought  to  be  visible  ?  even 
with  the  cloud  veil  on  her  forehead,  it  was  the 
most  glorious  revelation  of  Nature  I  have  ever  seen. 
And  what  was  our  seat  here,  up  above  more  snow 
than  we  saw  all  last  winter  ?  A  regular  carpet  of 
flowers,  chiefly  forget-me-nots,  gentianellas,  bril- 
liant potentillas,  violets,  pansies,  and  daisies,  and 
many  lovely  flowers  I  did  not  know.  The  grass- 
es too  were  various  and  pretty.  What  an  addi- 
tion to  the  enjoyment  of  the  great,  the  small  can 
be  !     And  there  I  wrote  these  lines. 

Sunshine  and  silence  on  the  Col  de  Balm ! 
I  stood  above  the  mists,  above  the  rush 
Of  all  the  torrents,  when  one  marvellous  hush 
Filled  God's  great  mountain  temple,  vast  and  calm, 
With  hallelujah  light,  a  seen  but  silent  psalm. 

Crossed  with  one  discord,  only  one.     For  love 
Cried  out  and  would  be  heard :   "  If  ye  were  here, 
O  friends,  so  far  away,  and  yet  so  near, 
Then  were  the  anthem  perfect."     And  the  cry 
Threaded  the  concords  of  that  Alpine  harmony. 

Not  vain  the  same  fond  cry,  if  first  I  stand 
Upon  the  mountain  of  our  God,  and  long 
Even  in  the  glory,  and  with  His  new  song 
Upon  my  lips,  that  you  should  come  and  share 
The  bliss  of  heaven,  imperfect  still  till  all  are  there. 


82  SWISS   LETTERS. 

Dear  ones!  shall  it  be  mine  to  watch  you  come 
Up  from  the  shadow,  and  the  valley  mist, 
To  tread  the  jacinth  and  the  amethyst, 
To  rest  and  sing  upon  the  stormless  height, 
In  the  deep  calm  of  love  and  everlasting  light? 

It  seemed  a  pity  to  lose  the  chance  of  a  sunset 
behind,  but  it  would  not  do  to  be  benighted  there 
and  on  Saturday  evening  too,  so  we  rode  quickly 
down*  and  took  a  carriage  at  Argentiere  for 
Chamouni,  which  we  reached  when  the  twilight 
was  deepening  into  dark.  From  our  window  in 
the  Hotel  de  Londres  we  looked  out  and  saw  the 
mountains  marvellously  beautiful  with  just  the 
same  sort   of  pale   solemn  light   we   saw  on  the 

*  As  we  came  down  the  Col  de  Balm  we  heard  a  chorus  of  cow 
bells  rising  from  the  valley .  Our  guide  said  there  were  two  hun- 
dred cows  in  the  invisible  herd,  all  wearing  bells.  The  confused, 
pleasant,  quick  sound  was  very  novel;  and  though  the  bells  are 
various  in  pitch,  all  melted  into  one  general  musical  effect,  without 
any  clashing  of  tones  just  as  the  song  of  many  birds  does: 

"The  tintinnabulation  that  so  musically  swells 
From  the  bells,  bells,  bells,  bells!  " 

Edgar  Allan  Poe. 

A  little  farther  on  we  neared  a  tiny  hamlet,  and  up  above  us 
came  a  wonderful  tinkle,  tinkle,  tinkle.  Presently  a  goat  peered 
over  the  edge  of  a  ridge  and  ran  down  followed  by  one  hundred 
and  twelve  companions;  they  were  not  the  least  timid,  and  passed 
close  to  us,  each  one  looking  curiously  at  us,  as  if  aware  we  were 
not  "  du  pays."  They  were  going  home,  and  knew  the  way  quite 
well. 


SUNDAY  AT    CHAMOUNI.  83 

Jungfrau  at  night.  It  was  quite  dark  below  except 
for  the  lights  in  the  village;  but  up  above  against 
the  dark  sky,  Mont  Blanc,  the  Dome  du  Goute  and 
the  Aiguille  du  Midi  seemed  robed  in  that  singular 
holiness  of  light,  utterly  calm  and  pure,  entirely 
celestial,  which  to  both  of  us  is  more  than  rose 
tints  and  gold;  there  is  nothing  like  it  except 
the  smile  of  holy  peace  on  the  face  of  one  asleep 
in  Jesus.  Presently  we  saw  a  little  twinkling  on 
the  edge  of  the  glacier,  and  wondered  what  it  was. 
On  Monday  we  knew  more  about  it.  While  we 
watched  it,  another  little  light,  but  purer  and 
clearer,  rose  into  the  intense  depth  of  blue  between 
the  Aiguille  du  Midi  and  the  Rochers  Rouges. 
You  will  know  how  a  star  can  rise  when  you  have 
seen  it  on  a  clear  night,  when  a  snow  mountain 
seems  its  stepping  stone  to  its  place  in  the  sky. 

July  11.    Sunday  at  Chamouni. 

M.  L.'s  birthday,  which  she  began  by  seeing 
Mont  Blanc  crested  with  sunlight  before  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  services  in  the  little 
English  church  were  most  refreshing.  The  clergy- 
man, Mr.  Cripps,  of  Nottingham,  led  the  chanting 
and  hymns  without  accompaniment,  and  every  one 
seemed  to  join  heartily,  with  an  unusual  proportion 
of  men's  voices.  Both  tunes  and  chants  were 
judicious,  such  as  all  must   know  and  all  could 


84  SWISS   IE  ITERS. 

sing.  The  morning  sermon  was  on  Isaiah  xxxiii. 
17:  "  Thines  eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  His  beauty, 
they  shall  behold  the  land  that  is  very  far  off." 
The  evening  from  Revelation  iii.  20:  "  Behold,  I 
stand,"  etc.  Both  were  extremely  interesting  and 
useful,  with  loving  encouragement  and  earnest 
warning,  such  as  one  does  not  hear  from  every 
pulpit.  The  evening  was  radiant  in  rose  tints, 
and  when  they  had  faded  away  we  came  in  from 
the  balcony  and  sang  hymns  with  the  clergyman 
and  others. 

July  12.    Pierre  Pointue  and  Pierre  A 
l'Echelle. 

A  real  fine  clear  day  at  last !  We  inquired 
about  the  twinkle  on  the  mountain,  and  found  it 
was  the  lamp  at  the  little  auberge  at  Pierre 
Pointue,  the  first  stage  up  Mont  Blanc;  this  was 
attractive,  so  we  went.  A  remarkably  steep  ride 
through  the  forest,  and  then  far  up  above  it, 
brought  us  to  Pierre  Pointue  in  three  hours.  H. 
C.'s  mules  always  go,  though  he  does  not  ap- 
pear to  use  any  extra  means,  so  he  was  there  long 
before.  M.  L.  and  I  have  taken  pains  to  acquire 
the  mule  language  and  its  correct  intonation;  but 
all  our  Hu!  Allez!  Hupp!  Carabi!  Hui,  hui! 
Allons!  Arrrdi!  is  lost  on  them,  and  they  pursue 
the  even  tenor  of  their  way.     Pierre  Pointue  com- 


PIERRE  POINTUE  AND  PIERRE  A  VECHELLE.   85 

mands  a  fine  view  of  the  Glacier  des  Bossons  (a 
very  fine  one)  and  the  snowy  shoulder  of  Mont 
Blanc.  We  dismounted,  and  I  had  a  real  bona- 
fidc  scramble  an  hour  and  a  half  higher  up  with 
H.  C.  and  M.  L.  across  the  ends  of  snowdrifts, 
and  right  through  torrents  and  up  rocks  and 
places  you  would  not  think  feasible  anywhere  but 
in  Switzerland.  We  rested  and  lunched  with  im- 
mense satisfaction  on  the  rock  called  Pierre  a 
l'Echelle  because  the  ladders  for  the  ascent  of 
Mont  Blanc  used  to  be  kept  there  before  the 
Grands  Mulets  were  set  up  with  a  hut.  We  were 
now  about  eight  thousand  six  hundred  feet  high, 
and  I  at  least  was  proportionately  happy.  It  was 
marvellous  how  far  up  the  lovely  rhododendrons 
grow,  but  the  forget-me-nots  were  almost  as  dar- 
ing, and  the  Alpine  ranunculus  grew  higher  still, 
the  special  glacier  flower,  said  Joseph  Devouas- 
soud.  It  was  a  wild  scene,  the  grim  Rochers 
Rouges  and  Aiguille  du  Midi  just  above,  the 
whole  Dome  du  Goute  shining  close  beyond 
the  great  glacier,  an  awful  slope  of  snow  and 
stones  below  us,  and  ever  so  deep  down  the 
Chamouni  valley,  which  we  must  have  seen  as 
the  birds  see  it.*     On  our  way  down  our  young- 

*  If  there  were  any  birds  to  see  it !  But  there  is  a  curious  paucity 
of  them  in  Switzerland.  We  hardly  ever  saw  or  heard  a  bird  of  any 
kind.     If  we  did,  it  was  quite  a  thing  to  be  remarked  upon  to  each 


86  SWISS   LETTERS. 

est  guide,  Aristide  Couttet,  proved  himself  a  tiue 
boy  in  spite  of  his  learned  name,  shortening  his 
route  by  sliding  down  all  the  snow  slopes  any- 
where near  the  line  of  march;  it  looked  such  fun, 
I  envied  him;  but  though  I  "take  kindly"  to 
mountaineering,  I  am  not  advanced  enough  for 
snow  slopes.  We  walked  nearly  all  the  way 
down  from  Pierre  Pointue,  as  it  was  so  steep 
for  riding,  visiting  the  Cascade  du  Dard  on  the 
way.  So  we  really  have  been  more  than  half 
way  (in  height)  up  Mont  Blanc,  and  would  have 
gone  to  the  Grands  Mulets  had  we  been  prepared 
for  it. 

July  13.    La  Flegere. 

It  was  intensely  hot,  so  we  had  a  quiet  morning 
for  writing  and  resting.  La  Flegere  was  selected 
for  a  nice  little  afternoon  excursion,  only  five  and  a 
half  hours,  starting  at  3.30.  See  how  we  have 
improved  !  This  is  an  hour  more  than  our  first 
mountain  ride  to  Miirren,  and  that  we  thought  a 
very  trying  day's  work.  The  ascent  is  on  the 
opposite  side  to  Mont  Blanc,  and  the  whole  chain 
should  be  visible,  but  unfortunately  it  clouded  over 

other  H.  C.  was  always  on  the  look  out,  he  seemed  to  miss  the 
birds  and  living  creatures  generally.  Nature  has  devoted  herself  to 
the  inanimate  instead  of  to  the  animate;  one  never  sees  a  wild  living 
thing  except  insects,  which  quite  make  up  as  regards  numbers  and 
beauty;  no  game,  no  rabbits,  nothing  ! 


MONTANVERT  AND    MER    DE    GLACE.         87 

long  before  we  reached  La  Flegere,  and  we  could 
only  imagine  how  grand  the  scene  would  have  been 
with  the  evening  light  full  upon  it.  Still  it  was 
worth  going,  and  we  gained  a  better  idea  of  the 
real  height  as  we  rose;  it  is  impossible  to  realize 
the  height  of  mountains  from  below,  the  higher  we 
are  the  grander  they  look.  Is  it  not  so  in  other 
things  ?  A  certain  proportionate  elevation  is 
essential  to  appreciation.  We  climbed  above  La 
Flegere,  eagerly  watching  for  the  expected  break 
in  the  clouds  above  the  monarch,  which  did  not 
come.  Suddenly  we  heard  a  low  roar  ending  in  a 
grand  crescendo,  with  a  character  of  its  own  quite 
distinct  from  thunder,  echoing  along  the  whole 
chain,  so  that  we  did  not  know  where  to  look  for 
our  long  hoped-for  avalanche  !  M.  L.'s  eye  caught 
it  just  in  time,  rushing  from  the  cloud  upon  the 
Aiguille  Verte;  we  only  saw  a  rising  of  white 
snow-spray  where  it  rested.  Twice  more  we  heard 
the  same  curiously  impressive  sound,  but  not  so 
loud  or  near.  Barring  the  avalanche  we  reckoned 
this  our  least  interesting  mountain  excursion. 

July    14.      MONTANVERT    AND    MER    DE    GLACE. 

Our  last  Alpine  day  !  Always  excepting  Miir- 
ren,  the  five  days  from  Martigny  to  the  end  of 
Chamouni  were  the  very  essence  of  our  whole 
tour;   getting  up  to  Pierre   a   l'Echelle   was   the 


88  SWISS    LETTERS. 

centre   and   culmination,  but   Montanvert  was   a 
capital  wind  up. 

We  started  at  6.20,  breakfasted  at  the  auberge 
*more  than  six  thousand  feet  high,  and  then,  with 
H.  C.  and  M.  L.,  I  went  across  the  Mer  de  Glace. 
We  did  not  slip  once,  though  we  had  the  gratifi- 
cation of  seeing  two  gentlemen  tumble  down.  It 
feels  queer  for  the  first  few  minutes,  but  one  soon 
gets  one's  balance  and  one's  glacier  feet.  Only 
near  the  farther  shore  there  are  some  decidedly 
interesting  bits,  where  one  has  to  walk  along  a 
ridge  just  wide  enough  to  tread,  with  beautiful  blue 
crevasses  yawning  on  each  side;  if  you  slipped,  on 
the  right  side  you  would  go  down  a  house-roof 
slope  of  ice  first,  and  then  into  the  crevasse,  and  on 
the  left  you  would  go  straight  down  at  once 
perpendicularly.  Where  the  ice  is  blue  at  all,  it  is 
wonderfully  blue,  shading  into  an  intensity  and 
depth  of  color  no  painting  could  exaggerate.  But 
on  the  whole  the  dirt  is  annoying,  and  I  cannot 
entirely  respect  the  glaciers  in  consequence.  The 
correct  thing  is  to  send  the  mules  round  to  Cha- 
peau  on  the  farther  side,  but  this  seemed  rather 
extensive,  and  involved  the  Mauvais  Pas,  so  M. 
and  the  mules  waited  our  return  at  Montanvert. 
But,  once  across,  it  stood  to  reason  I  wanted  to  go 
on,  and  bit  by  bit  we  approached  the  Mauvais  Pas 
to  my  intense  delight.     It  is  a  way,  half  staircase 


MONTANVERT  AND    MER    DE    GLACE.         89 

and  half  shelf,  about  a  foot  wide,  round  the  face 
of  a  perpendicular  rock  overlooking  the  glacier  and 
at  some  height  before  reaching  Chapeau,  and  looks 
most  charmingly  awful.  It  is  not  really  dangerous 
unless  one  is  disposed  to  be  giddy,  for  there  is  an 
iron  rope  fastened  to  the  rock  all  the  way  within 
reach  of  one  hand,  and  with  a  stick  in  the  other  you 
cannot  well  come  to  grief  if  you  step  cautiously. 

Of  course  this  was  quite  irresistible,  so  down  I 
went  and  back  again,  leaving  Devouassoud  with 
M.  L.;  he  had  long  ago  given  up  looking  after 
me,  but  presently  a  gentleman  came  up  and 
wanted  the  guide  to  go  with  him,  which  he  did 
by  H.  C.'s  permission.  We  were  rather  amused 
at  this.  It  was  a  pull  to  get  back  again  to  the 
crossing  point,  but  it  was  worth  coming,  for  we 
saw  the  pinnacles  and  pyramids  of  ice  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  glacier,  and  heard  the  constant 
fall  of  blocks  and  stones.  "Always  movement 
here,"  said  the  guide. 

In  re-crossing  we  diverged  to  see  a  bottomless- 
looking  hole  in  the  ice,  from  which  rose  a  tremen- 
dous roar  from  the  hidden  river  three  hundred 
feet  below,  raving  like  an  imprisoned  giant.  We 
had  a  shower  during  our  walk,  but  this  was  all 
right,  for  we  got  some  "effects";  it  was  specially 
fine  when  a  few  minutes'  sunshine  lit  up  the  whitest 
part  of  the  glacier  near  the  ice  needles,  and  a  heavy 


90  SWISS   LETTERS. 

cloud  threw  the  opposite  side  of  the  valley  seen 
just  over  the  ice  into  the  deepest  violet  shade. 
Just  as  we  got  back  to  the  auberge  it  began  to 
rain,  and  we  waited  two  hours  till  it  cleared. 

On  our  way  to  Chamouni,  I  got  Aristide  Couttet 
to  tell  me  the  rules  and  arrangements  about  guides, 
which  is  all  code  and  tariffhere,  and  he  explained 
clearly  and  intelligently.  But  do  not  visitors  some- 
times go  to  the  mountains  without  a  guide  ?  He 
answered  just  what  I  wanted  him  to  say.  "Oh  yes, 
madame,  but  it  is  very  foolish;  they  only  lose  their 
way,  and  it  is  very  dangerous;  accidents  happen 
when  they  will  go  without  one,  but  if  one  has  a 
guide  all  goes  well"  (tout  va  bien).  "  We  have  a 
Guide,  Aristide;  do  you  know  who  I  mean  ?"  "Oh 
yes,  madame;  you  mean  Jesus  Christ,  He  is  the 
best  Guide."  He  seemed  quite  delighted  to  go  on 
with  the  subject,  which  we  did  for  some  time. 
"One  does  not  fear  death  if  one  has  that  Guide," 
he  said;  "  He  gives  us  salvation"  (II  notis  donne  le 
saint).  I  gave  him  some  little  Scripture  papers; 
he  glanced  over  them,  and  putting  his  finger  on 
some  verses  about  the  Saviour  (John  iii.  16  was 
one),  he  said  "  Cest  bienjoli,  cela?" 

The  storms  must  be  awful  here  in  winter;  we 
passed  hundreds  of  great  pines  broken  short  off  at 
the  roots,  or  torn  right  up.  Devouassoud  said  it  is 
most  dangerous  to  pass  the  forests  when  they  are 


CHAMOUNI    TO    ST.    GERVAIS.  91 

laden  with  snow,  if  a  storm  rises.  The  evening 
was  cloudy  but  pleasant,  and  we  spent  it  on  the 
flat  parapeted  roof.  I  gathered  several  flowers  on 
the  Mauvais  Pas,  and  the  guide  gathered  a  plant 
he  had  never  found  before,  but  it  had  once  been 
shown  him  by  another  guide.  It  is  a  little  green 
thing,  and  as  M.  does  not  know  it  it  must  be  rare. 
Jos.  Devouassoud  has  been  four  days'  excursions 
with  us,  and  he  asked  us  to  write  him  a  testimonial 
in  his  book,  so  I  wrote: 

Careful  and  gentle,  respectful  and  steady, 
Always  obliging  and  watchful  and  ready; 
Pleasantly  telling,  as  children  say, 
All  about  everything  on  the  way ; 
Good  for  the  glaciers,  strong  for  the  steeps; 
Mighty*  for  mountains,  and  lithesome  for  leaps; 
Guide  of  experience,  trusty  and  true, 
None  can  be  better  than  Devouassoud! 

I  gave  him  a  free  translation  which  pleased 
him  amazingly. 

July  15.  Chamouxi  to  St.  Gervais  (15  miles). 
A  brilliant  morning  after  the  showers,  and 
Mont  Blanc  far  too  dazzling  to  look  at  steadily. 
We  thought  we  had  left  it  all  behind,  and  so  were 
astonished  and  delighted,  when  about  halfway,  to 
find  perhaps  the  most  perfect  single  view  we  have 
had  at  all,  even  allowing  for  an  exceptionally  clear 
atmosphere.     The  whole  drive  to  St.  Gervais  is  a 


92  SWISS   LETTERS. 

succession  of  beauty,  both  near  and  distant,  and  I 
was  really  sorry  that,  for  the  first  time,  we  had  a 
dashing  driver.  H.  C.  was  exactly  suited,  but 
wanted  to  know  how  often  he  had  to  get  absolu- 
tion for  breaking  Protestant  necks!  St.  Gervais 
aux  Bains  is  an  enormous  mineral  water  establish- 
ment, partly  hotel,  partly  medical  pension.  It  is 
built  in  a  narrow  wooded  gorge,  and  has  a  fine 
waterfall  just  beyond  it.  The  visitors'  rooms  oc- 
cupy two  long  wings  with  open  galleries  running 
along  the  front  of  each  storey;  it  is  like  streets  of 
bedrooms,  and  the  view  of  the  same  as  you  pass 
to  your  own  is  comical.  It  was  not  full,  but  there 
were  two  hundred  and  twenty  visitors.  In  the 
afternoon  we  went  to  the  village  of  St.  Gervais,  a 
stiff  walk  up  zigzags  out  of  the  gorge;  the  view  at 
the  top  was  indeed  a  lovely  upland  dip  below 
Mont  Joli  (8000  feet)  with  a  glimpse  of  the  Mont 
Blanc  chain  at  one  end,  and  the  fine  valley  of 
Salenches,  bounded  by  jagged  purple  hills  against 
the  evening  sky,  on  the  other.  We  went  to  see 
Cheminees  des  Fees,  most  curious  pillars  of  gravel, 
with  roofs  of  the  same,  standing  straight  up, 
separate  from  the  side  of  the  rock  against  which 
they  are  seen. 

Our  Alpine  work  is  really  over,  and  I  had  a 
token  thereof.  I  had  made  quite  a  small  idol  of 
my  alpenstock,  with  its  long  spiral  of  names  be- 


CHAMOUNI    TO    ST.     GERVAIS.  93 

ginning  with  Lauterbrunnen  and  ending  with  the 
Mauvais  Pas;  it  was  so  handy  and  helpful;  but 
having  served  me  up  to  the  last  day,  it  closed  its 
account  by  falling  out  of  the  carriage  and  getting 
smashed.  I  have  enjoyed  the  Alps  exceedingly 
not  less  than  I  expected,  and  yet  it  has  been  in 
rather  a  different  way.  When  one  hears  very  per- 
fect music,  pleasure  overshoots  itself  into  pain,  the 
exquisite  thrill  is  just  too  much,  one  longs  to  dare 
to  let  it  all  out  in  tears,  the  cup  of  enjoyment 
overflows  as  the  hand  trembles  with  delight,  and 
the  nectar  is  lost  through  its  very  abundance.  But 
if  one  has  a  share  in  the  performance  of  the  very 
same,  the  enjoyment  is  more  complete  because  less 
intense  and  concentrated;  the  physical  action  of 
hand  or  voice  is  the  safety  valve,  and  just  takes  off 
the  too  keen  edge,  just  keeps  the  thrill  of  pleasure 
from  rising,  yes  rising,  into  pain.  It  is  exactly 
thus  with  these  mountains.  The  strange  unique 
solemn  beauty  would  be  too  oppressive,  the  sense 
of  it  would  weigh  one's  soul  down  into  awe,  would 
be  like  a  mighty  hand  upon  one's  breast,  stopping 
the  very  breath  of  one's  soul.  But  the  physical 
exertion  is  just  the  needed  balance;  one  is  in 
motion,  there  is  effort,  there  is' even  the  sense  of 
inhaling  a  different  and  most  exhilarating  air;  one 
is  thus  kept  within  the  region  of  real  enjoyment; 
one  has  not  time  for  the  snow  silence  to  fall  on 


94-  SWISS   LETTERS. 

one's  heart.  The  pleasure  is  more  perfect  for  one's 
whole  being,  just  because  it  is  more  imperfect  for 
the  higher  part  of  that  being.  If  one  were  borne 
on  an  angel's  wings  up  to  Pierre  Pointue,  one 
would  hardly  dare  speak  in  the  sudden  presence 
of  the  snow  glory;  but  as  one  comes  up  on  a 
mule  and  grasps  an  alpenstock,  one  is  more  in- 
clined to  .shout  and  laugh  with  delight,  and 
hasten  to  scramble  higher. 

July  1 6.    St.  Gervais  to  Geneva. 

A  splendid  morning,  but  oh  such  a  hot  drive; 
none  the  cooler  for  leaving  the  snow  mountains 
farther  behind.  But  they  are  beautiful  to  the  last, 
even  at  Geneva,  where  they  edge  the  horizon  like 
bright  clouds,  rather  golden  than  white.  On  this 
hot  day  even  the  enormous  Hotel  de  la  Metropole 
was  a  most  welcome  refuge  from  the  heat,  wel- 
come actually  to  me  ! 

July  17.    Geneva. 

A  morning's  shopping  and  strolling.  In  the 
evening  a  drive  to  the  cemetery  at  Petit  Saccon- 
nex, where,  after  some  search,  we  found  the  tomb 
of  (Mrs.)  Maria  Vernon  Graham,  with  the  text 
I  Thess.  iv.  17;  also  Dr.  Barry's  tomb.  We  called 
on  Mrs.  Pennefather  (S.  A.  de  Montmorency.) 
Major  Pennefather  said  it  had  been  a  most  excep- 


GENEVA.  95 

tional  summer,  and  that,  till  the  last  few  days, 
Mont  Blanc  had  not  been  visible  for  six  weeks ! 

We  went  to  an  open  air  concert  on  Rousseau's 
Island  at  8  p.m.  It  was  very  un-English,  but  very 
pretty.  The  little  island  lies  just  in  the  point 
where  the  Rhone  rushes  out  of  the  lake,  and  is 
connected  with  the  city  by  a  bridge.  On  it  is  a 
wooden  cafe  and  several  trees.  A  little  semi- 
circular orchestra,  roofed  but  open  in  front  and 
brilliantly  lighted,  was  faced  by  about  four  hundred 
chairs  placed  under  the  trees.  The  lake  and  river, 
dark  or  glittering,  reflected  the  bright  rows  of 
light  from  quays  and  bridges  and  hotels;  and  the 
moon,  after  two  months'  absence,  shone  through 
the  branches  and  lit  up  a  reach  of  the  Rhone. 

The  music  was  rubbish,  mostly  from  French 
operas,  but  very  prettily  played.  One  piece,  a 
string  sextet,  was  of  higher  order  and  a  real  treat 
The  conductor  stood  facing  the  audience  instead 
of  the  orchestra,  though  he  occasionally  turned  to 
the  instruments  which  led  off  any  special  point. 
It  was  not  the  least  like  English  conducting;  the 
time  seemed  less  marked  than  the  expression; 
a  soft  passage  was  given  with  the  slightest  little 
movements  of  the  hand,  down,  down,  down,  no 
right,  left,  etc.,  at  all;  then  you  saw  the  crescendo 
coming  by  the  stronger  motion. 

Between  the  parts  we  did  "as  they  do  at  Rome," 


96  SWISS   LETTERS. 

or  Geneva,  and  had  coffee  and  ices  at  one  of  the 
little  round  tables  in  the  moonlight. 

July  1 8.    Sunday  at  Geneva. 

We  were  told  we  should  hear  a  very  superior 
preacher  at  the  Temple  de  St.  Gervais,  so  M.  and 
I  went  at  10  a.m.  We  were  early,  but  the  large 
church  was  already  crowded;  it  is  one  of  the 
oldest  in  Geneva,  and  it  was  pleasant  to  think 
that  many  of  our  Reformers  had  worshipped  in  it. 
All  the  windows  were  darkened  with  red  curtains 
to  keep  out  the  glare  of  heat.  M.  Tournier  gave 
out  Romans  iii.  22,  23,  but  as  usual  it  was  "an 
oration  and  not  an  exposition."  He  opened  by 
saying,  "What  is  Christianity?  What  is  the 
church?"  A  pause.  "This  is  the  great  question 
on  which  men's  minds  are  divided."  The  first  part 
of  the  sermon,  an  answer  to  the  first  question,  was 
singularly  eloquent  and  forcible,  the  answer  being 
that  it  is  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  that  is 
"the  religion  of  redemption."  He  alluded  to  the 
rationalistic  controversies,  of  Geneva,  and  implied 
that  there  is  much  present  agitation  on  the 
subject 

After  service  we  had  passed  a  little  figure  in  the 
crowd;  I  turned  back,  it  was  Andrienne  Vignier. 
She  is  staying  two  miles  off,  but  had  walked 
through  the  heat  to  hear  M.  Tournier.     She  only 


SUNDAY  AT    GENEVA.  97 

came  from  Naples  a  few  days  ago,  and  her 
accounts  of  it  were  sadly  amusing.  We  remarked 
on  Switzerland  being  so  noisy.  "  Noisy!  go  to 
Italy,  alors  !  There  it  is  all  noise.  Music  ?  Mais 
oni  !  the  people  all  sing.  To  be  sure,  ha,  ha! 
Imagine  the  roaring  of  wild  beasts  let  loose,  and 
you  have  it.  They  have  three  notes  in  their 
voices,  and  those  three  come  through  their  nose. 
The  donkeys  are  far  better;  they  bray  in  a  long 
melancholy  note,  quite  sentimental,  as  if  they 
mourned  the  wrongs  of  the  country.  But  when 
the  people  fight  it  is  more  lively;  they  always 
fight  when  they  have  nothing  else  to  do.  They 
throw  things  at  each  other,  generally  their  wooden 
shoes;  and  they  take  such  good  aim,  ola!  they 
never  miss."  Then  she  described  the  family  to 
which  she  has  devoted  herself,  body  and  soul  and 
purse,  for  three  years,  all  for  love  of  the  mother, 
her  old  schoolfellow,  for  a  nominal  salary.  "  There 
are  ten  of  them,  and  they  all  have  dispositions 
volcaniqucs.  You  hear  such  a  noise "  (here  she 
makes  sundry  illustrative  and  most  unearthly 
sounds),  "  it  is  an  eruption,  each  is  a  little  Vesuve 
in  herself,  and  when  it  is  over  in  one  quarter  it 
begins  again  in  another." 

"  Talking  of  Vesuvius,  did  you  see  much  of  it?" 
"We  saw  the  whole  proceedings  of  the  mountain 
day  and  night,  without  putting  on  our  shoes." 


98  SWISS   LETTERS. 

"And  what  impression  did  it  give  you?  what 
was  it  like  ?  " 

"  Hell !  just  hell,  precisement !  But  the  whole 
country  is  its  portal;  one  must  not  think  of  being 
happy  there,  it  is  all  misery  and  wretchedness. 
These  three  years  have  been  just  agony,  and  I 
am  completely  imbecilified  !  " 

She  came  with  us  to  the  hotel,  just  her  old  self, 
as  rapid  and  as  funny  as  ever,  only  spicing  her 
accounts  with  more  French  words  and  idioms.  In 
the  evening  we  went  to  English  service,  but  it  was 
almost  too  hot  to  listen. 

July  19.    Geneva  to  Neuchatel. 

Andrienne  came  early  and  took  us  to  the 
Musee  Rath,  a  public  collection  of  statues,  pic- 
tures, etc.  A  poor  Swiss  woman  found  her  way 
in,  and  was  like  a  child  among  the  pictures,  full 
of  interest  and  delight.  I  told  her  about  some  of 
them,  and  she  followed  me  all  the  time  for  the 
chance  of  more  information.  I  stood  some  time 
before  a  beautiful  copy  from  Carlo  Dolce,  "Christ 
with  the  crown  of  thorns,"  and  she  liked  to  hear 
about  the  "old,  old  story." 

In  the  heat  of  the  morning  I  went  to  the  Rhone 
swimming  bath,  which  was  delicious.  At  one  end 
the  river  comes  in  in  a  regular  waterfall  three  feet 
high,  through  which  you  can  see  the  light,  blue  and 


NEUCHATEL.  99 

shining-;  fancy  sitting  under  this  azured  crystal. 
It  was  such  fun  to  swim  down  the  long  bath,  it 
was  one's  beau  ideal  of  bathing,  and  the  cool, 
transparent,  exquisite  blue  is  so  much  nicer  than 
salt  grey  waves. 

We  left  Geneva  by  two  p.m.  steamer  for  Morges, 
and,  though  hazy,  the  view  was  very  beautiful, 

especially  with  the  assistance  of  M.  L.'s  ex  cath- 
edra announcements  as  to  which  were  mountains 
and  which  clouds,  among  the  dim  golden-white 
horizon  fringings  to  the  south !  We  reached 
Neuchatel  about  ten,  after  more  than  an  hour 
on  the  very  edge  of  the  lake  by  moonlight,  a 
very  pretty  line  of  rail. 

July  20.  Neuchatel. 
Simply  broiling !  The  rest  shopped  all  the 
morning,  gifts  for  home,  etc.  ;  I  stayed  in  the 
comparatively  cool  and  very  pleasant  Hotel 
Bellevue  saloon,  close  to  the  lake  and  public 
gardens.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Maynard  are  here,  which 
is  a  great  treat;  his  chaplaincy  is  now  over,  so  we 
were  only  just  in  time  to  meet  them.  We  wished 
to  go  to  Chaumont  in  the  afternoon,  but  all  the 
carriages  were  engaged,  so  we  had  a  row  on  the 
lake  instead.  We  tried  to  make  out  Mont  Blanc 
and  the  Jungfrau,  but  it  is  tantalizing  to  try  to 
identify  those  majestic  presences  among  far,  faint, 


IOO  SWISS   LETTERS. 

shadowy  cloud  outlines,  after  one  has  stood  face 
to  face  with  them;  it  was  looking  at  the  wrong 
side  of  the  tapestry.  The  moonlight  was  perfect; 
what  would  we  not  have  given  for  an  hour  of  it 
at  Thun,  or  Lucerne,  or  Chamouni,  or  Vevey? 

July  21.    Neuchatel  to  Dijon. 

What  would  Frank  have  said  ?  I  was  coward 
enough  to  decline  going  with  the  others  to  the 
cathedral  on  account  of  the  heat,  and  had  a 
luxurious  morning  of  writing  and  chatting  with 
Mr.  M.  The  heat  was  intense.  Mr.  M.  said  he 
"wished  last  Sunday  that  he  could  have  preached 
in  the  lake  !  "  Fancy  preacher  and  congregation 
up  to  their  necks  !  it  would  have  been  emphatic- 
ally "a  refreshing  service." 

Our  afternoon  train  saved  us  much  heat,  for 
after  sunset  it  was  cool  and  pleasant,  and  we  did 
not  get  to  Dijon  till  nearly  eleven  p.m.  The  first 
hour  and  a  half  from  Neuchatel  till  near  Pontarlier 
is  right  across  the  Jura  chain,  not  grand  but  ex- 
tremely beautiful,  especially  at  first,  when  the  line 
rises  steeply  along  the  side  of  a  splendid  gorge, 
wooded,  except  where  the  limestone  rocks  are  too 
precipitous  to  give  any  hold  for  firs.  And  it  is 
wonderful  how  little  hold  seems  necessary  for  tree 
roots  in  Switzerland;  they  cling  to  rocks  where  one 
would  have  thought  not  a  bush  or  even  a  plant 


NEUCHATEL     TO    DIJON.  10 1 

could  find  footing,  and  shoot  up  straight  and 
stately,  vegetable  aiguilles. 

'  As  we  left  Neuchatel  we  looked  out  for  the 
possibility  of  a.  definite  farewell  to  the  Alps. 
What  a  strange,  sad  fascination  there  is  about  a 
last  glimpse  !  Above  the  hazy  horizon  were  some 
little,  pale  whitenesses,  was  it  to  these  that  our 
good-bye  must  be  said  ?  So  we  called  in  our 
mountain  oracle,  M.  L.,  who  answered  authorita- 
tively "  that  they  were  Alps  certainly,  Mont 
Blanc  probably!'  So  we  watched  on  till  they 
were  lost:  all  silent.  But  is  it  not  then  that 
thoughts  talk  loudest  ? 

Shall  we  ever  see  them  again  ? 

"Efje  foorftg  of  tije  ILortr  are  great,  sought 
out  of  ail  tljem  tijat  Ijabe  pleasure 
therein/ ' 


II. 

THE  MOUNTAIN  MAIDENS. 

(Zella,  Dora,  Lisetta.) 
A    CANTATA. 


PART  I.     SUNRISE. 
(i.)  Dawn  Chorus. 

The  stars  die  out,  and  the  moon  grows  dim, 
Slowly,  softly,  the  dark  is  paleing ! 

Comes  o'er  the  eastern  horizon-rim, 
Slowly,  softly,  a  bright  unveiling. 

The  white  mist  floats  in  the  vale  at  rest, 

Ghostly,  dimly,  a  silver  shiver; 
The  golden  east  and  the  purple  west 

Flushing  deep  with  a  crimson  quiver. 

The  mountains  gleam  with  expectant  light, 
Near  and  grandly,  or  far  and  faintly, 

In  festal  robing  of  solemn  white, 
Waiting,  waiting,  serene  and  saintly. 

Lo !  on  the  mountain -crest,  sudden  and  fair, 
Bright  herald  of  morning,  the  rose-tint  is  there; 
Peak  after  peak  lighteth  up  with  the  glow 
That  crowneth  with  ruby  the  Alpine  snow. 


THE    MOUNT  AIM  MAIDENS.  103 

Summit  on  summit,  and  crest  beyond  crest, 
The  beacons  are  spreading  away  to  the  west; 
Crimson  and  fire  and  amber  and  rose 
Touch  with  life  and  with  glory  the  Alpine  snows. 

(2.)  Chorale. 
Father,  who  hast  made  the  mountains, 

Who  hast  formed  each  tiny  flower, 
Who  hast  filled  the  crystal  fountains, 

Who  hast  sent  us  sun  and  shower: 
Hear  Thy  children's  morning  prayer, 
Asking  for  Thy  guardian  care; 
Keep  and  guide  us  all  the  day, 
Lead  us  safely  all  the  way. 

Let  Thy  glorious  creation 

Be  the  whisper  of  Thy  power; 
New  and  wondrous  revelation 

Still  unfolding  every  hour. 
Let  the  blessing  of  Thy  love 
Rest  upon  us  from  above; 
And  may  evening  gladness  be 
Full  of  thanks  and  praise  to  Thee. 

(3.)  Recitative. — Dora. 
Our  pleasant  summer  work  begins.     You  go, 
O  merry  Zella,  with  the  obedient  herd 
To  upland  pastures,  singing  all  the  way; 
And  you,  Lisetta,  to  the  sterner  heights, 
Where  only  foot  of  Alpine  goat  may  pass, 
Or  step  of  mountain  maiden.     It  is  mine 
To  work  at  home,  preparing  smooth  white  cheese 
For  winter  store  and  often  needed  gain; 
And  mine  the  joy  of  welcoming  once  more 
My  loving  sisters  when  the  evening  falls. 


104  SWISS   LETTERS. 

(4.)  Song. — Dora. 
The  morning  light  flingeth 

Its  wakening  ray, 
And  as  the  day  bringeth 

The  work  of  the  day, 
The  happy  heart  singeth, 

Awake  and  away ! 

No  life  can  be  dreary 
When  work  is  delight; 

Though  evening  be  weary, 
Rest  cometh  at  night; 

And  all  will  be  cheery 
If  faithful  and  right. 

When  duty  is  treasure 
And  labor  a  joy, 

How  sweet  is  the  leisure 
Of  ended  employ ! 

Then  only  can  pleasure 
Be  free  from  alloy. 


[Repeat  ver.  I.] 


(5.)  Song.— Zella. 
Away,  away !  with  the  break  of  day, 

To  the  sunny  upland  slope » 
Away,  away !  while  the  earliest  ray 

Tells  of  radiant  joy  and  hope. 

With  the  gentle  herd  that  know  the  word 

Of  kindness  and  of  care, 
While  with  footsteps  free  they  follow  me 

As  I  lead  them  anywhere. 

Away,  away !  with  a  merry  lay, 
And  the  chime  of  a  hundred  bells; 

Away,  away !  with  a  carol  gay, 
And  an  echo  from  the  fells. 


THE    MOUNTAIN  MAIDENS.  105 

To  the  pastures  high,  where  the  shining  sky 
Looks  down  on  a  wealth  of  flowers; 

To  the  sapphire  spots,  where  forget-me-nots 
Smile  on  through  the  lonely  hours. 

Away,  away !  while  the  breezes  play 

In  the  fragrant  summer  morn; 
Away,  away !  while  the  rock-walls  grey 

Resound  with  the  alpenhorn. 

To  the  crags  all  bright  in  the  golden  light 

With  floral  diadems, 
As  fresh  and  fair,  as  "rich  and  rare," 

As  any  royal  gems. 

Away,  away !  while  the  rainbow  spray 

Wreathes  the  silver  waterfalls; 
Away,  away !     Oh,   I  cannot  stay, 

When  the  voice  of  the  morning  calls ! 

(6.)  Recitative. — Lisetta. 
Adieu,  my  Dora!     Zella  dear,  adieu! 
The  quick  light  tinkle  of  the  goat  bells  now 
Reminds  me  they  are  waiting  for  my  call, 
To  follow  where  small  flowers  have  dared  to  peep 
And  laugh,  beside  the  glacier  and  the  snow. 
I  shall  not  go  alone,  your  love  shall  go  with  me. 

(7.)  Duet.— Zella  and  Dora. 
Adieu,  adieu  till  eventide ! 

The  hours  will  quickly  pass, 
The  shadow  of  the  rocks  will  glide 

Across  the  sunny  grass. 
We  shall  not  mourn  the  lessening  light, 
For  we  shall  meet  at  home  to-night. 


106  SWISS   LETTERS. 

Adieu,  adieu  till  eventide ! 

The  hour  of  home  and  rest, 
The  hour  that  finds  us  side  by  side, 

The  sweetest  and  the  best. 
For  love  is  joy,  and  love  is  light, 
And  we  shall  meet  at  home  to-night ! 

Adieu,  adieu  till  eventide ! 

'Tis  but  a  little  while! 
We  would  not  stay  the  morning's  pride, 

Or  noontide's  dazzling  smile; 
But  welcome  evening's  waning  light, 
For  we  shall  meet  at  home  to-night ! 


PART  II.     NOON. 

(8.)  Song. —Lisetta. 

It  is  noon  upon  the  mountains,  and  the  breeze  has  died  away, 
And  the  rainbow  of  the  morning  passes  from  the  torrent  spray, 
And  a  calm  of  golden  silence  falls  upon  the  glistening  snow, 
While  the  shadows  of  the  noon  clouds  rest  upon  the  glen  below. 

It  is  noon  upon  the  mountains,  noon  upon  the  giant  rocks; 
Hushed  the  tinkle  of  the  goat  bells,  and  the  bleating  of  the  flocks; 
They  are  sleeping  on  the  gentians,  and  upon  the  craggy  height, 
In  the  glow  of  Alpine  noontide,  in  the  glory  of  the  light. 

It  is  noon  upon  the  mountains.     I  will  rest  beside  the  snow, 
Glittering  summits  far  above  me,  blue-veined  glaciers  far  below; 
I  will  rest  upon  the  gentians,  till  the  quiet  shadows  creep 
Cool   and    soft,    along   the   mountains,    waking  me   from  pleasant 
sleep. 


THE    MOUNTAIN  MAIDENS.  1 07 

(9.)  Noon  Chorus. 

Rest !  while  the  noon  is  high; 

Rest  while  the  glow 
Falls  from  the  summer  sky 

Over  the  snow. 

Rest !  where  the  alpenrose 

Crimsons  the  height, 
Piercing  the  mountain  snows, 

Purpling  the  light. 
Rest !  while  the  waterfalls, 

Murmuring  deep 
Far  away  lullabies, 

Hush  thee  to  sleep. 

Rest !  while  the  noon,  etc. 

Rest !  where  the  mountains  rise, 

Shining  and  white, 
Piercing  the  deep  blue  skies, 

Solemn  and  bright. 
Sleep  while  the  silence  falls, 

Soothing  to  rest, 
Sweetest  of  lullabies, 

Calming  and  blest. 

Rest!  while  the  noon,  etc. 

(10.)  Recitative. — Lisetta. 

Where  am  I?     I  was  sleeping  by  the  snow, 
Upon  the  alpenroses  in  the  noon. 
But  am  I  dreaming  now?     The  sun  is  low, 
'Tis  twilight  in  the  valley,  and  I  hear 
No  music  of  the  goat  bells.     Oh,  I  fear 
It  is  no  dream;  but  night  is  coming  soon, 


08  SWISS   LETTERS. 

And  I  am  all  alone  upon  the  height; 

And  there  are  small  faint  tracks,  too  quickly  lost, 

That  need  sure  foot  and  eye  hi  fullest  light; 

And  crags  to  leap,  and  torrents  to  be  crossed ! 

I  go !  may  Power  and  Love  still  guard  and  guide  aright. 

(n.)   Song. — Lisetta. 
Alone,  alone !  yet  round  me  stand 
God's  mountains,  still  and  grand ! 
Still  and  grand,  serene  and  bright, 
Sentinels  clothed  in  armor  white, 
And  helmeted  with  scarlet  light. 
His  Power  is  near, 
I  need  not  fear. 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  His  throne, 
Alone,  alone  !  yet  not  alone ! 

Alone,  alone !  yet  beneath  me  sleep 
The  flowers  His  hand  doth  keep; 
Small  and  fair,  by  crag  or  dell, 
Trustfully  closing  star  and  bell, 
Eve  by  eve  as  twilight  fell. 
His  Love  is  near, 
I  need  not  fear. 
Beneath  the  rainbow  of  His  throne, 
Alone,  alone !  yet  not  alone, 

Alone,  alone !  yet  I  will  not  fear, 
For  Power  and  Love  are  near. 
Step  by  step,  by  rock  and  rill, 
Trustfully  onward,  onward  still, 
I  follow  home  with  hope  and  will; 
So  near,  so  near, 
I  do  not  fear. 
Beneath  the  Presence  of  His  throne, 
Alone,  alone !  yet  not  alone ! 


THE   MOUNTAIN  MAIDENS.  iO(j 

PART  III     SUNSET. 

(12.)  Sunset  Chorus. 

It  is  coming,  it  is  coming  ! 

The  marvellous  up-summing 
Of  the  loveliest  and  grandest  all  in  one; 

The  great  transfiguration, 

And  the  royal  coronation, 
Of  the  Monarch  of  the  mountains  by  the  priestly  Sun. 

Watch  breathlessly  and  hearken, 

While  the  forest  throne-steps  darken 
His  investiture  in  crimson  and  in  fire; 

Not  a  herald  trumpet  ringeth, 

Not  a  paean  echo  flingeth, 
There  is  music  of  a  silence  that  is  mightier  far  and  higher. 

Then  in  radiant  obedience 

A  flush  of  bright  allegiance 
Lights  up  the  vassal  summits  and  the  proud  peaks  all  around; 

And  a  thrill  of  mystic  glory 

Quivers  on  the  glaciers  hoaiy, 
As  the  ecstasy  is  full,  and  the  mighty  brow  is  crowned. 

Crowned  with  ruby  of  resplendence, 

In  unspeakable  transcendence, 
'Neath  a  canopy  of  purple  and  of  gold  outspread; 

With  rock  sceptres  upward  pointing, 

While  the  glorious  anointing 
Of  the  consecrating  sunlight  is  poured  upon  his  head. 

Then  a  swift  and  still  transition 

Falls  upon  the  gorgeous  vision, 
And  the  ruby  and  the  fire  pass  noiselessly  away; 

But  the  paleing  of  the  splendor 

Leaves  a  rose  light,  clear  and  tender, 
And  lovelier  than  the  loveliest  dream  that  melts  before  the  day. 


IO  SWISS   LETTERS. 

Oh  to  keep  it,  oh  to  hold  it, 

While  the  tremulous  rays  enfold  it! 
Oh  to  drink  in  all  the  beauty,  and  never  thirst  again! 

Yet  less  lovely  if  less  fleeting, 

For  the  mingling  and  the  meeting 
Of  the  wonder  and  the  rapture  can  but  overflow  in  pain. 

It  is  passing,  it  is  passing ! 

While  the  softening  glow  is  glassing 
In  the  crystal  of  the  heavens  all  the  fairest  of  its  rose; 

Ever  faintly  and  more  faintly, 

Ever  saintly  and  more  saintly, 
Gleam  the  snowy  heights  around  us  in  holiest  repose. 

O  pure  and  perfect  whiteness ! 

O  mystery  of  brightness, 
Upon  those  still  majestic  brows  shed  solemnly  abroad ! 

Like  the  calm  and  blessed  sleeping 

Of  the  saints  in  Christ's  own  keeping, 
When  the  smile  of  holy  peace  is  left,  last  witness  for  their  God ! 

(13.)  Song. — Dora. 

The  tuneful  chime  of  the  herd  is  still, 

For  the  milking  hour  is  past, 
And  tinkle,  tinkle,  along  the  hill, 

The  goat  bells  come  at  last. 
But  sister,  sister,  where  art  thou? 
We  watch  and  wait  for  thy  coming  now. 

The  crimson  fades  from  the  farthest  height, 

And  the  rose-fire  pales  away; 
And  softly,  softly  the  shroud  of  night 

Enfolds  the  dying  day. 
But  sister,  sister,  where  art  thou? 
We  watch  and  wait  for  thy  coming  now. 


THE    MOUNTAIN  MAIDENS. 

The  cold  wind  swells  from  the  icy  steep, 
And  the  pine  trees  quake  and  moan; 

And  darkly,  darkly  the  grey  clouds  creep; 
And  thou  art  all  alone. 

O  sister,  sister,  where  art  thou? 

We  watch  and  wait  for  thy  coming  now. 

(14.)  Deut. — Zella  and  Dora. 

We  will  seek  thee,  we  will  find  thee, 

Though  the  night  winds  howl  and  sweep; 
We  will  follow  through  the  torrent, 

We  will  follow  up  the  steep. 
Follow  where  the  alpenroses 

Make  the  mountain  all  aglow, 
Follow,  follow  through  the  forest, 

Follow,  follow  to  the  snow! 
And  our  Alpine  call  shall  echo 

From  the  rock  and  from  the  height, 
Till  a  gladder  tone  rebounding, 
Thine  own  merry  voice  resounding, 

Fill  us  with  a  great  delight. 
Lisetta !     Lisetta  ! 
Hush  and  hearken.     Call  again ! 

Lisetta  !     Lisetta ! 
Hearken,  hearken.     All  in  vain  ! 

We  will  seek  thee,  we  will  find  thee, 

In  the  wary  chamois'  haunt; 
Toil  and  terror,  doubt  and  danger, 

Loving  hearts  shall  never  daunt ! 
We  will  follow  in  the  darkness, 

We  will  follow  in  the  light; 
Follow,  follow,  till  we  find  thee, 

Through  the  noon  or  through  the  night. 


12  SWISS   LETTERS. 

We  will  seek  thee,  we  will  find  thee, 

Never  weary  till  we  hear, 
Over  all  the  torrents  rushing, 
Joyous  answer  clearly  gushing, 
Thine  own  Alpine  echo  dear! 
Lisetta !     Lisetta ! 
Hush  and  hearken.     All  in  vain ! 

Lisetta !     Lisetta ! 
Hearken,  hearken.     Call  again! 

(15.)  Trio. — Zella,  Dora,  and  Lisetta. 

Lisetta  {pp).    I  am  coming ! 

Zella  and  Dora  (/).     She  is  coming ! 

Lisetta  (p).    I  am  coming.    Wait  for  me ! 

Zella  and  Dora  (/).  She  is  coming ! 

Lisetta  (mf).     I  am  coming  ! 

Zella  and  Dora  (/).     Come,  oh  come,  we  wait  for  thee ! 

Nearer,  nearer  comes  the  echo; 
Nearer,  nearer  comes  the  voice; 

Nearer,  nearer  fall  the  footsteps, 
Making  us  indeed  rejoice. 
Lisetta.    I  am  coming,  wait  for  me  ! 
Zella  and  Dora.     Come,  oh  come,  we  wait  for  thee ! 

Zella,  Dora,  and  Lisetta. 


We      (  her,  \  we     (  her, 

1  have   sought  >  •<  have  found 

They  (  me,  )  they  (  me, 

Fear  and  danger  all  are  past, 


;} 

(  we  lead  her    ) 

Now  with  joyful  song  ■{    .        .     ,  > 

J  J  &  (  they  lead  me  ) 


Safely,  safely  home  at  last 


THE    MOUNTAIN  MAIDENS.  113 

(16.)  Chorus. — Finale. 

Safe  home,  safe  home ! 
Fear  and  danger  all  are  past, 
We  are  safely  home  at  last! 

Oh,  the  lovelight  shed  around, 

In  a  nch  and  radiant  flow, 
When  the  loved  and  lost  are  found, 

Is  the  sweetest  heart  can  know. 
Fairer  than  the  dawn-light  tender, 

Fuller  than  the  noontide  glow, 
Brighter  than  the  sunset  splendor, 

Purer  than  the  moonlit  snow. 

Now  let  the  wild  cloud  sweep, 

Let  the  wild  rain  pour ! 
Now  let  the  avalanche  leap 

With  its  long,  grand  roar! 
Now  let  the  black  night  fall 

On  the  mountain  crest! 
Safe  are  our  dear  ones  all 

In  our  mountain  nest 

Safe  home,  safe  home ! 
Fear  and  danger  all  are  past, 
We  are  safely  home  at  last! 


III. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  LETTERS 

WRITTEN  TO  J.  M.  C.  IN  187 1. 


LETTER  I. 

yum  29,  1 87 1.  Sitting  in  an  arbor  outside  the 
station  at  Belfort,  the  only  Strong  place  left 
to  the  French  in  this  region. 

Dear  Miriam: 

We  have  had  a  most  interesting  journey,  and  I 
feel  quite  historical.  We  crossed  from  Newhaven 
with  a  crowd  of  returning  French,  and  reached 
Dieppe  about  9.30  a.m.,  had  coffee,  and  went  on 
via  Rouen  to  Paris.  H.  C.  would  be  charmed  with 
Rouen,  and  I  bracket  it  with  Edinburgh  and  Berne 
as  the  three  most  picturesque  towns  I  know.  We 
had  just  time  to  go,  via  rue  Jeanne  d'Arc,  to 
St.  Ouen,  which  is  a  crystallization  of  all  one's 
floating  visions  of  lovely  architecture.  E.  Clay 
had  laid  in  a  splendid  stock  of  little  French  books 
and  tracts,  which  we  were  to  divide  between  us; 
and  as  we  thought  Rouen  was  not  a  usual  place 
for  tract  distribution  we  gave  away  many,  and 


LETTERS   IN  1 87 1.  115 

you  cannot  think  how  delighted  people  seemed. 
One  tall  grave  man,  of  superior  rank,  watched  us, 
and  came  up  to  E.  asking  if  she  had  many.  We 
were  afraid  he  meant  to  interfere,  as  he  looked 
very  official;  however,  he  only  wanted  to  ask 
"if  we  would  kindly  give  him  one  for  himself, 
two  if  we  could."  He  took  them,  and  thanked 
us  as  if  we  had  given  him  some  great  thing. 

We  left  Rouen  at  2  p.m.,  and  made  friends  with 
two  very  taking  French  girls  returning  to  Paris 
after  the  war;  one  of  them  had  immense  lovely 
eyes.  They  told  us  all  sorts  of  war  experiences. 
One  had  an  uncle  in  La  Roquette  who  escaped  by 
bribing  the  guard  the  night  before  he  was  to  be 
shot;  her  own  house  left  standing  and  untouched, 
but  houses  on  each  side  burnt  to  a  shell.  The 
other  had  a  brother  who  had  three  horses  killed 
under  him,  but  escaped  unwounded;  a  cousin  was 
killed  in  the  first  battle,  an  uncle  escaped  from  his 
chateau  two  minutes  before  the  "Communistes" 
entered  and  killed  three  men  instead  of  him;  this 
girl  said  her  family  had  lost  nearly  all  their  prop- 
erty, the  other  had  fared  better.  They  both  re- 
viled the  Emperor,  and  said  it  was  all  his  fault; 
that  he  was  resolved  on  war  in  order  to  preserve 
his  dynasty;  but  they  would  not  own  that  the 
Communists  were  French  altogether,  "it  was  the 
bad  of  all  countries  who  constituted  the  Commun- 


Il6  SWISS   LETTERS. 

istes  and  they  disowned  them  as  compat7'iotesr 
As  we  neared  Paris  they  pointed  out  where  the 
line  had  been  broken  up,  and  soon  after  we  crossed 
the  Seine  by  two  bridges  (an  island  being  in  the 
middle)  of  the  most  fragile  and  temporary  look- 
ing appearance,  at  about  two  miles  an  hour,  with 
awful  squealings  of  the  engine  all  the  time.  The 
ruins  of  the  broken  bridge  were  about  fifty  yards 
higher.  Then  we  saw  war  effects  visible  and  ter- 
rible; for  some  miles  all  through  those  bright 
looking  suburbs  it  was  one  succession  of  desola- 
tions, great  ragged  holes  in  the  roofs  and  walls 
of  some  houses,  and  others  mere  shells,  gutted 
entirely,  and  others  laid  open  like  the  front  of 
a  baby  house,  a  whole  wall  having  fallen,  and 
showing  the  skeleton  of  the  storeys. 

It  was  far  worse  than  I  expected  to  see,  and 
the  two  poor  girls  were  sadly  distressed  and 
flushed,  and  their  pretty  eyes  full  of  tears.  We 
were  so  sorry  for  them. 

At  Paris,  4.20,  we  could  not  get  a  cab,  and 
walked  with  a  porter  about  a  mile  and  a  half  to 
the  station  for  Basle  {via  Troyes).  Most  of  the 
way  was  just  Paris  of  old,  gay  and  clean  and 
lively,  but  here  and  there  houses  were  pitted  with 
bullet  marks,  and  over  nearly  all  the  churches  we 
saw  the  mark  of  the  Communists  in  large-lettered 
"Liberie,  Egalite,  FratemiteT 


LETTERS    IN   1 8? I.  W] 

At  the  rue  Strasbourg  station  we  decided  to  go 
by  the  night  train,  and  meantime  set  off  to  see 
the  more  special  ruins.  We  walked  nearly  two 
miles  before  we  could  find  a  vehicle,  and  then 
drove  to  the  Tuileries;  the  principal  walls  are 
standing,  but  through  the  burnt  out  windows  I 
noticed  especially  the  superb  rooms  I  went 
through  with  you,  not  a  floor  or  a  cross  wall  was 
left.  Then  the  gardens  looked  so  knocked  about 
and  soldiers'  tents  looked  queer  and  ominous. 
The  Palais  Royal  seemed  much  the  same,  and 
the  stumpy  pedestal  of  the  Colonne  Vendome 
looked  most  melancholy. 

Our  driver  was  a  Communist,  I  fancy,  and  a 
lively  one.     We  bemoaned  the  Tuileries. 

"Ah!"  said  he  laughing,  "it's  all  right,  that 
makes  work  for  the  laborers." 

He  showed  us.  the  Colonne  Vendome  that  was, 
with  absolute  glee,  saying,  "We  have  taken  it 
down  that  another  may  be  put  up  !  " 

"Where  is  the  money  to  come  from  ? "  I  asked. 

"Oh,  there  is  always  money  enough  forthcom- 
ing when  we  want  it  !  " 

"Were  you  in  Paris  during  the  siege  ? " 

"Surely  !  it  is  my  country,  my  Paris." 

The  unsubdued  care-for-nought  look  of  the 
man  gave  me  a  notion  of  French  levity.  He 
showed  us  the  rue  de  la  Paix,  where  the  awful 


Il8  SWISS    IETTERS. 

massacre  began,  and  the  bullet  marks  on  the 
houses.  In  contrast  to  all  this  the  boulevards 
looked  just  as  gay  as  in  1869,  crowded  and  bright; 
no  end  of  people  drinking  coffee  and  wine  at  the 
little  tables  under  the  trees,  theatre  placards  in  all 
directions,  and  all  just  as  usual;  only  it  was  less 
colored,  for  we  took  special  notice  that  at  least 
seven  out  of  eight  women  were  in  mourning;  no 
crape,  perhaps  they  can't  afford  it,  but  plain  black; 
this  was  most  striking,  and  a  great  contrast  to 
the  colors  of  1869.  We  saw  a  good  many  dirty 
and  dismal  looking  soldiers,  and  were  told  that 
these  were  returned  French  prisoners  coming  in 
by  every  train. 

We  left  Paris  by  eight  p.m.  train,  and  arrived 
at  Belfort  at  nine  a.m.,  nearly  an  hour  late.  All 
beyond  this  (Belfort)  is  in  Prussian  hands,  so  the 
French  officials  don't  or  won't  'know  anything 
about  it,  and  show  no  timetables,  and  give  no 
answer  but  shrugs  to  any  question,  or  they  refer 
one  to  "  those  Germans"  at  the  other  end  of  the 
station.     It  is  quite  sadly  comical. 

We  both  vote  a  night  journey  a  great  success; 
after  9.30  we  had  the  carriage  to  ourselves,  and 
were  quite  luxuriously  comfortable.  Mrs.  Snepp 
gave  me  a  hood  which  was  a  great  comfort,  and 
E.  admires  it  extremely. 

The  guard  was  most  polite,  and,  though  he  did 


LETTERS   IN   187 1.  119 

not  resort  to  the  simple  expedient  of  locking-  us 
up,  he  took  trouble  in  warning  people  off  as  if 
they  were  canaille  compared  with  English  ladies, 
there  being  no  other  specimens  of  the  article  on 
this  route.  One  unadvised  individual  opened 
our  door,  and  the  guard  rushed  at  him  with 
"  March-t-en !  il  y  a  deux  me s dames  banquees; 
march-t-en !  Juri ! "  Is  not  banquees  a  good 
word  ?  We  don't  know  whether  we  slept  much 
because  we  seemed  to  be  aware  of  the  stations, 
at  most  of  which  there  was  tremendous  hullaba- 
Iooing,  occasioned  by  soldiers  returning  from 
Prussia.  We  quite  roused  up  at  3.30,  and  fell 
upon  gingerbread  and  biscuits,  and  then  subsided 
till  after  six,  when  we  got  up  for  good,  and  found 
ourselves  nearing  and  then  crossing  the  lovely 
Vosges  mountains. 

I  forgot  to  say  that  between  twilight  and 
moonlight,  about  nine  p.m.,  we  passed  a  most 
desolate  and  scathed  region,  and  were  told  it 
was  the  battlefield  of  Champigny.  Anything 
grimmer  and  gloomier  you  could  not  imagine; 
ground  broken  and  scarred,  nothing  but  weeds 
growing,  a  few  deserted  cottages  with  great  gaps 
in  roofs  and  ball  marks  with  great  cracks  radiat- 
ing from  them  in  the  walls,  and  many,  terribly 
many,  irregular  shaped  mounds  at  irregular  dis- 
tances, where  heaps  of  dead  were  buried  just  where 


120  SWISS   LETTERS. 

they  fell.  It  was  so  ghastly,  and  made  war  seem 
so  real. 

r-  After  we  had  breakfasted  here,  we  sauntered 
towards  the  fortifications,  and  distributed  little 
books  as  we  went  along,  and  never  had  such  a 
time  of  it  !  The  people  were  so  eager  after  them, 
we  only  wished  we  had  hundreds  more;  several 
superior  people  came  and  asked  for  them,  though 
we  only  offered  them  to  the  poor.  Some  asked 
for  "another  to  give  to  a  friend";  one  workman 
at  the  fort  seemed  delighted,  and  begged  us  to 
give  him  some  for  his  fellow  workmen;  there  were 
a  great  many  at  work  above,  he  said,  and  they 
would  be  so  glad  of  them.  We  went  into  a  place 
where  some  wounded  soldiers  and  some  women  at 
work  were  sitting;  they  spoke  most  gratefully, 
and  rose,  and  bowedX  "Merci  infmiment,  infini- 
ment  !  "  said  one  man.  (We  exhausted  our  stock, 
and  after  having  pottered  about  the  fortifications 
we  parted,  as  E.  wished  to  go  farther  and 
I  came  back  to  write.  As  I  passed  through 
the  town  I  found  lots  of  people  on  the  look  out 
for  me,  to  ask  for  more  little  books;  at  one 
point  at  least  thirty  people  clustered  round  me, 
begging  for  more.  I  had  only  three  French 
hymns  left,  and  they  were  so  disappointed  that, 
after  talking  a  little  to  them,  I  told  them  they 
might  come  to  the  station  for  some.     We  took  the 


LETTERS   IN   iS/I.  12  J 

opportunity;  for  plenty  of  people  give  tracts  on 
the  Swiss  routes,  but  here  they  are  evidently  a 
novelty.  >( 

Belfort  is  terribly  battered  about;  the  large 
church  is  just  a  ruin,  not  a  square  yard  of  roof 
whole;  the  houses  nearest  the  fort  are  simply 
heaps  of  ruins.  The  weather  is  just  warm  enough 
to  be  pleasant  for  sitting  out  of  doors  without 
wraps.  E.  and  I  are  mutually  satisfied  with  our 
equipments,  which  are  nearly  alike;  and  having 
nothing  but  what  we  can  carry  ourselves  on  emer- 
gency is  most  delightful,  and  we  have  been  "  first 
come  first  served"  several  times  already.  The 
"  unprotected  female  "line  answers  firstrate;  every 
one  is  civil  and  attends  to  us.  I  hope  somebody 
will  write  to  us  at  Zermatt;  I  ought  to  get  some 
encouragement  to  write  my  circulars.  Love  all 
round  in  general. 

Your  loving  sister, 

F. 

P.S. — Mrs.  S.'s  maid  supposed,  of  course,  wTe 
should  have  a  courier;  did  you  ever!  I  think  E. 
and  I  could  train  a  courier  if  wished;  but  the 
idea  of  our  being  taken  in  tow  by  one  ! 


122  •  SWISS    LETTERS. 


LETTER  II. 


Beyond  Ershfeld,     Jane  30. 

E.  and  I  were  in  such  a  state  of  felicity  that 
it  went  beyond  talking,  and  we  walked  in  a  silence 
of  delight.  We  are  (for  siesta)  encamped  under 
two  trees  and  a  huge  boulder,  a  little  more  than 
half  way  from  Altdorf  to  Amsteg  (nine  miles), 
at  a  most  lovely  bend  of  this  valley  which  the 
"Practical  Swiss  Guide"  well  describes  as  "  sol- 
emnly beautiful,"  the  Bristenstock  towering  close 
in  front  of  us,  a  cone  of  snow.  Can't  you  im- 
agine me  perfectly  suited  !  But  I  will  go  back 
to  where  I  left  off.  When  E.  came  back  to  me 
at  Belfort,  she  said  she  was  convinced  no  one 
but  an  "unprotected  female"  would  have  been 
allowed  to  go  where  she  did,  up  among  the  forti- 
fications and  on  the  top  of  the  walls  !  The  sen- 
tinels merely  looked  at  her,  but  no  one  spoke  to 
her.  She  had  found  a  whole  street  in  entire 
ruins. 

We  left  the  Belfort  station  at  two,  and  arrived 
at  Basle  at  five.  I  must  own  to  having  been  a 
little  nervous  at  crossing  the  broken  and  only 
partially  repaired  bridges  and  viaducts;  we  crossed 
one  great  breach  at  an  immense  height,  on  what 
seemed    merely   temporary   beams,    so    that    we 


LETTERS   IN   jS/I.  123 

looked  out  of  the  window  into  the  valley  below, 
without  any  apparent  thing-  under  the  carriage ! 
At  one 'station  we  passed  an  ambulance  train 
very  slowly,  so  that  we  could  see  well  into  each 
u  doktor's  wagen,"  full  of  all  sorts  of  surgical 
looking  things,  and  a  "kitchen  carriage,"  full  of 
stoves  and  pots  and  pans,  and  others  evidently 
for  the  wounded  with  beds  in  them. 

Had  we  ordered  special  trains,  we  could  not 
hitherto  have  done  better;  and  at  Basle,  where 
we  thought  of  sleeping,  we  had  just  time  for  a 
comfortable  meal  at  the  station,  and  then  a  train 
was  going  direct  to  Lucerne;  this  was  irresistible, 
and  we  did  not  feel  tired,  so  on  we  went.  It  was 
a  most  exquisite  evening,  brilliantly  clear,  and 
the  rail  from  Basle  to  Olten  one  series  of  changing 
lovely  views.  Just  before  Olten  we  had  a  sudden 
revelation  of  Alps;  for  about  five  minutes  a  dis- 
tant range  of  snow  mountains  shone  out  with 
sunset  full  upon  them,  perfectly  golden.  It  would 
have  suited  John  Bunyan;  you  know  what  those 
visions  suggest,  as  nothing  else  on  earth  ever  did 
or  does  to  me.  Except  the  lake  of  Sempach, 
which  we  skirted,  there  was  nothing  else  special 
till  about  9.30,  when  E.  announced  Pilatus  !  which 
was  just  ahead,  delicately  outlined  in  the  moon- 
light, and  looking  very  spiritual  and  holy!  We 
went  to  the  Cygne  at  Lucerne;  I  was  in  bed  at 


124  SWISS   LETTERS. 

eleven,  and  slept  like  a  dormouse  for  eight  hours. 
It  was  delicious !  Fancy  our  not  having-  been 
undressed  since  Monday  night !  When  Iawoke  I 
looked  out  on  the  most  glorious  morning  view  of 
the  lake  and  mountains.  Last  week  there  was 
rain  and  snow  here;  now  all  is  in  perfection,  very 
clear,  the  green  vivid  and  fresh,  waterfalls  full,  and 
all  the  near  mountains  with  extra  snow,  Pilatus  all 
capped  and  streaked,  and  looking  finer  than  ever 
in  consequence.  Again  boat  departure  was  just 
right,  9.30,  giving  us  time  to  get  money  changed, 
etc.  Our  sail  down  the  lake  was  simply  perfec- 
tion, and  we  saw  the  Bernese  Alps,  Jungfrau,  and 
all  as  distinctly  as  possible;  you  remember  we 
never  saw  them  at  all  in  1869.  To  add  to  it,  a 
school  came  on  board,  going  to  Fluellen  for  a 
treat,  and  struck  up  some  uncommonly  pretty 
Swiss  national  songs  in  three  parts;  and  seeing 
our  interest,  the  children  lent  us  their  books  to 
follow  the  words,  which  were  also  very  pretty. 
The  effect  of  one  in  particular  was  quite  upsetting, 
it  was  so  sweet  and  charming. 

You  remember  H.  C.  suggesting  a  "lift"  on  the 
steep  side  of  the  Rigi.  Well,  they  have  outdone 
him,  for  they  have  actually  got  a  railway  to  the 
very  top !  on  the  Mont  Cenis  principle  of  a 
toothed  line  in  the  centre,  and  a  wheel  to  catch, 
which  continually  locks  itself,  so  that  the  carriages 


LETTERS   IN   iS/I.  1 25 

cannot  run  back,  but  regularly  climb  up;  they 
told  me  that  at  one  part,  which  we  could  see,  the 
incline  is  actually  one  in  four! 

We  omnibused  from  Fluellen  to  Altdorf,  being 
a  hot  flat  two  miles,  and  then  sent  on  our  bags 
by  diligence,  and  walked  up  the  valley. 

N.B. — I  am  writing  now  at  Amsteg,  7.30  p.m. 
It  is  grander  at  every  turn  all  the  nine  miles,  and 
we  are  so  glad  we  walked  it;  don't  fancy  we  over- 
did it,  for  we  took  six  hours,  resting  two  hours 
halfway,  besides  shorter  rests;  and  this  Swiss  air 
is  atmospheric  salvolatile.  We  dined  half  way  at 
a  tiny  village  quite  unknown  to  guidebooks,  and 
the  affair  was  charming.  A  nice  girl  of  twenty 
waited  on  us,  but  thought  it  part  of  her  duty  to 
entertain  us,  and  came  and  sat  down  all  the  time, 
making  herself  most  agreeable.  "  Yes,  plenty  of 
English  passed  by,  but  none  ever  stayed  there." 
She  was  greatly  entertained  with  us  evidently, 
and  watched  everything  like  a  child.  She  and  a 
younger  sister  had  never  seen  india-rubber  bands, 
and  were  quite  delighted  when  I  gave  them  a  few. 
E.  gave  them  some  Gospels,  and  they  promised 
to  read  them. 

July  1.  We  were  in  bed  at  nine  last  night  and 
up  at  five  this  morning  and  off  a  little  before  seven. 
Morning  superb,  and  the  pass  just  magnificent;  we 


126  SWISS   IETTERS. 

took  it  easy  and  did  not  get  over  the  seven  miles 
to  Wasen  till  nearly  noon.  But  then  how  could  we 
hurry !  There  were  gorges  to  look  up,  and  high 
bridges  to  look  down,  and  snow  summits  through 
every  opening,  and  lights  and  shadows  playing 
over  all.  Not  having  cut  out  too  much  work  for 
to-day  we  had  time  to  take  any  number  of  mental 
photographs.  At  Wasen  we  went  to  the  inn,  a 
real  Swiss  one,  and  dined  at  11.45  on  cold  kid 
and  ham  and  Italian  wine,  and  were  charged  ten- 
pence  each.  (I  will  always  quote  English  money.) 
Though  Belfort  is  obviously  the  most  direct  route 
to  Switzerland,  it  must  be  rarely  used  by  English, 
for  at  the  station  we  had  coffee,  eggs,  and  ablutions, 
for  tenpence  each,  and  a  dinner  of  cold  beef  for 
elevenpence  each.  Our  whole  expenses  from  Lon- 
don to  Wasen  have  not  been  £$  apiece,  and  here 
we  are  in  the  very  heart  of  Switzerland.  Yet  we 
have  had  everything  we  wanted,  and  the  only 
difference  is  that  we  are  waited  on  by  the  most 
obliging  Swiss  girls  at  these  small  inns,  instead  of 
by  napkined  waiters  at  the  great  noisy  grand 
hotels. 

Amsteg,  where  we  slept,  is  most  picturesque,  at 
the  junction  of  the  Maderanen  Thai  with  this  grand 
pass,  but  we  did  not  get  a  good  night  owing  to 
the  roar  of  the  Reuss,  which  equals  that  dreadful 
Arve  at  Chamouni  for  noise,  and  I  dislike  this  as 


LETTERS   W   1 87 1,  1 27 

much  as  I  did  in  1869,  and  am  longing  to  get  up 
above  it.  We  are  now  camped  out.  It  is  very 
hot,  and  E.  is  gone  a  little  way  from  me,  I  think 
sketching.  E.  is  an  unexceptionable  companion 
for  me,  and  we  agree  precisely  in  all  our  ways 
and  fancies  in  this  expedition.  Tell  H.  C.  the 
hay  is  being  cut,  and  it  is  the  fashion  here  to 
set  it  up  in  most  queer  cocks  about  six  feet 
high  and  two  broad;  they  are  put  on  stakes  with 
four  cross-bars,  rather  crooked  and  not  at  any 
particular  angle  to  each  other,  so  it  seems  to 
stick  and  let  the  wind  blow  through  it  most 
"convanient." 

7.45  p.m.  Geschenen.  Here  we  are  in  immense 
clover  !  Soon  after  we  moved  on  from  our  camp, 
a  storm  came  grandly  down  the  valley;  we  took 
refuge  in  the  outside  gallery  of  a  chalet,  and 
watched  it  in  comfort.  It  was  so  fine  to  see  it  rush 
past  and  leave  us  in  the  sunshine,  while  it  swept 
like  great  dusky  wings  down  the  pass.  We  soon 
got  on  to  this  place,  which  is  ideal,  of  a  different 
kind  to  the  exquisite  loveliness  of  the  lower  part  of 
the  pass.  It  is  a  wee  village,  shut  in  by  the  wild- 
est, most  savage  looking  heights,  mostly  topped 
with  snow,  awful  rocks  and  a  great  avalanche 
gorge  on  one  side,  a  wild  valley  narrow  and  solemn 
on  the  other,  shut  in  at  the  end  by  what  looks  like 
a  very  large  glacier,  which  they  say  no  one  has 


128  SWISS   IE  ITERS. 

ever  yet  crossed.  We  were  close  to  a  bridge  over 
a  very  deep  and  narrow  gorge,  and  about  a  hun- 
dred yards  off  can  get  back  into  the  great  St. 
Gothard  pass,  which  is  very  grand  both  up  and 
down.  And  here  we  are  going  to  spend  Sunday ! 
Don't  think  us  heathens,  but  we  could  not  possibly 
get  to  an  English  service  to-morrow,  and  I  really 
think  it  will  be  as  .good  as  going  to  church  just 
for  once  !  Our  inn  is  very  simple,  but  spotless; 
the  host  is  very  young  and  very  eager  to  oblige; 
and  the  hostess  must  have  taste,  to  judge  by  the 
way  she  has  set  off  the  deal  furniture  with  pretty 
white  netting  and  crochet.  We  are  the  only 
visitors  in  the  place,  and  consequently  receive 
the  utmost  attention. 

We  are  three  thousand  five  hundred  feet  high 
here,  having  risen  nearly  two  thousand  feet  in 
our  nine  miles'  walk  yesterday,  but  we  are  not 
at  all  tired,  and  having  Sunday  to  rest  we  are 
planning  greater  things  for  next  week.  We  are 
quite  early  enough;  the  diligence  only  ran  to- 
day for  the  first  time  over  the  Furca  pass,  there 
was  so  much  snow;  and  now  it  is  so  warm  I 
am  thankful  for  cool  attire. 

Monday,  n.45  a-m-  Hurrah!  Seven  thousand 
eight  hundred  feet  high,  and  going  to  stay  all  the 
afternoon  and  night  here  !     E.  and   I  are  quite 


LETTERS   IN   187 1.  129 

shocked  at  our  giddy  and  exhilarated  state  of 
mind.  We  feel  just  like  children,  and  except  a 
little  undercurrent  of  general  thanksgiving,  we 
don't  feel  solemn  at  all,  and  have  been  in  the 
wildest  spirits,  especially  since  we  got  over  seven 
thousand  feet  level.  But  I  go  back  to  yesterday; 
it  was  the  very  perfection  of  a  day,  clear  sunshine 
with  enough  cloud  floating  about  to  give  most 
satisfactory  effects,  the  temperature  delicious. 
E.  and  I  strolled  up  a  valley  finished  up  with 
a  weird  looking,  half  veiled,  and  very  precipitous 
glacier,  made  ourselves  cosy  nests  among  boul- 
ders and  moss,  and  had  a  small  service  on  our 
own  account,  after  which  we  separated  for  the 
rest  of  the  morning,  coming  back  to  dinner  at 
three. 

Geschenen  is  the  most  picturesque  place  I  ever 
stayed  at,  four  gorges  opening  from  it,  and  most 
emphatically  gorgeous  as  to  scenery.  Our  hosts 
are  so  devoted  to  us  that  we  might  be  personal 
friends  paying  a  visit !  Our  bill  from  Saturday 
afternoon  to  Monday  morning,  beginning  with  a 
meat  supper  and  including  quite  a  good  Sunday 
dinner  of  trout  and  beef,  was  altogether  \\s.  \d. 
for  both  of  us.  We  generally  only  have  one 
course,  which  saves  time  as  well  as  money. 


130  SWISS   LETTERS. 

LETTER   III. 

Furca  Pass  (7,800  feet).     Monday, 

July  3rd,   1871.     6  p.m. 

We  have  had  a  real  proper  day,  and  finished  up 
by  having  to  get  into  bed  (while  sundry  garments 
are  dried),  where  I  am  now  writing  !  After 
yesterday's  rest  we  started  this  morning  at  5.30, 
having  sent  on  our  bags  to  Viesch,  carrying  our 
few  necessaries.  We  walked  the  five  miles  and 
a  half  by  7.30.  The  pass  from  Geschenen  to 
Andermatt  is  savage  and  grand  beyond  descrip- 
tion, the  Reuss  is  a  succession  of  cataracts,  so 
that  any  fifty  yards  of  it  would  make  the  fortune 
of  any  English  place.  The  Devil's  Bridge  is  sim- 
ply awful,  rocks  tremendous  and  overhanging, 
the  depths  below  grim  and  terrible,  and  the 
river  coming  down  in  furious  leaps. 

The  road  is  marvellous  engineering;  in  one 
place  it  is  strongly  roofed  over  to  protect  it  from 
avalanches.  The  weather  was  quite  suitable, 
stormy  and  gusty,  with  sudden  and  fitful  gleams 
of  light  breaking  through  wild  grey  clouds.  We 
had  a  foretaste  of  climbing,  for  we  made  various 
interesting  short  cuts,  and  were  just  in  time  at 
Andermatt  (4,50x3  feet)  to  catch  the  diligence 
for  the  Furca. 

This  road  was  only  opened  last  summer,  and 
most  of  the  way  lay  along  the  edge  of  precipices; 


LETTERS   IN   itf/i.  13 1 

and  the  latter  part  had  been  injured  by  ava- 
lanches, and  was  cleared  out  between  walls  of 
snow.  You  can  hardly  imagine  the  wildness  of  the 
place,  utter  desolation  of  snow  and  rocks  all  round, 
and  grey  depths  to  peer  down  into;  the  Rhone 
valley  in  front  and  the  wild  pass  behind,  the  most 
utter  contrast  to  the  rich  magnificence  of  our  walk 
from   Amsteg. 

The  inn  here  was  very  small,  but  is  being  en- 
larged. We  have  a  very  comfortable  little  room 
with  a  table  and  sofa,  and  are  royally  lodged,  for 
here  the  Queen  slept  when  she  was  in  Switzerland, 
in  this  very  room  ! 

Hitherto,  being  the  only  English,  we  have  been 
taken  into  the  best  rooms  at  once.  After  a  good 
feed  at  1145  we  both  went  sound  asleep,  and 
awoke  up  quite  fresh  at  two.  It  looked  tolerably 
fine,  so  we  took  a  guide  (which  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary) up  the  Furca-horn,  a  peak  just  above.  It 
was  the  best  climb  I  ever  had,  beat  our  Pierre  a 
l'Echelle  experience.  There  is  no  vestige  of  a 
track,  and  most  queer  places  and  snow  slopes  to 
cross;  the  latter  were  most  entertaining.  The 
guide  went  first,  feeling  every  step  lest  he  should 
get  a  plunge;  we  following  exactly  in  each  step,  oc- 
casionally up  to  our  knees.  I  enjoyed  the  scramble 
exceedingly,  and  got  on  capitally.  The  view  was 
sublime,  nearly  a  panorama  of  the  very  wildest  Al- 


132  SWISS   LETTERS. 

pine  scenery,  and  the  Galenstock,  a  lovely  shaped 
peak  of  1 1 ,000  feet  just  above  us,  the  Rhone  glacier 
deep  below,  and  on  the  other  side  the  Maienwand, 
an  awful  precipice  at  the  top  of  which  in  a  dip  is 
the  Todten  See  (lake  of  the  dead);  the  Grimsel, 
and  Zitterhorn,  and  Finsteraarhorn  beyond.  But 
we  only  stayed  a  few  minutes,  for  most  awful  look- 
ing clouds  were  gathering  and  we  heard  distant 
thunder.  It  soon  began  to  sleet  violently,  and  our 
guide  took  us  down  a  longer  way  but  safer  for  de- 
scent, in  a  cloud  which  rushed  up  and  enwrapped 
us.  I  was  not  sorry  when  we  got  down  safe  and 
sound.  We  enjoyed  some  coffee,  and  I  am  now 
writing  most  luxuriously  in  bed.  It  is  snowing  and 
raining  alternately  most  furiously,  but  this  is  a 
pleasing  variety  in  our  experience !  They  are 
closing  the.  outside  shutters  of  three  of  our  win- 
dows as  it  will  probably  be  a  rough  night;  the 
other  window  is  sheltered  and  can  be  left  for  light. 
Have  we  not  speedily  got  into  the  real  thing? 
The  Alpine  flowers  have  had  the  boldness  to 
come  out  actually  right  among  the  snow;  where- 
ever  a  patch  is  thawed  there  they  are,  forget-me- 
nots  and  gentians,  and  most  lovely  lilac  and  yellow 
anemones,  both  all  fringed  and  furred  with  curious 
soft  hair;  also  some  tiny  bells  of  delicate  mauve, 
the  prettiest  little  things  imaginable.  These  and 
the  anemones  are  true  ice  flowers,  the  guide  said, 


LETTERS   IN  187 1.  133 

growing  where  not  a  blade  of  grass  has  started 
yet. 

I  have  been  reading  this  over  to  E.  and  she  is 
afraid  I  shall  have  frightened  you  by  my  account 
of  to-day,  and  that  you  "will  be  sending  some  one 
to  look  after  us  !"  This  would  be  an  undesirable 
arrangement,  as  we  don't  wish  to  have  any  one 
to  look  after !  Seriously  however,  I  do  not  con- 
sider we  have  done  anything  dangerous,  and  I 
mean  to  keep  the  promise  I  made  to  that  effect. 

At  the  yEggischhorn  Hotel,   7,372  feet  high. 
Wednesday,    July  5-     3  p.m. 

Yesterday  morning  the  storm  was  past,  but  the 
Furca  was  all  in  a  cloud,  so  though  we  were  up  at 
5.30  we  did  not  start  down  till  8.30  when  it  cleared 
rapidly  and  the  rest  of  the  day  was  bright.  The 
first  six  miles  took  us  close  by  the  side  and  to  the 
foot  of  the  Rhone  .glacier,  which  is  an  enormous 
precipice  of  icebergs,  with  a  comparatively  flat  foot 
beneath.  We  had  what  the  aborigines  call  dinner 
at  11.30,  then  we  strolled  on  about  another  six 
miles  down  the  Rhone  valley.  As  we  got  down 
to  about  4,400  feet  the  hay  region  begins;  it 
looked  beautiful,  but  will  not  be  ready  to  cut 
for  a  fortnight.  It  seems  more  than  half  flowers, 
but  they  say  that  is  good  for  the  cattle.  In  the 
afternoon  we  got  some  goat's  milk,  which  is 
horrid  stuff  but  very  refreshing. 


134  SIVISS   LETTERS. 

We  arranged  to  reach  Obergesteln  about  three, 
for  the  diligence  to  Viesch  (twelve  miles),  but  a 
'cute  Swiss  waylaid  us,  and  proposed  taking  us  in 
a  little  carriage  which  would  be  much  pleasanter. 
I  had  some  misgivings  as  to  whether  it  might  be 
anything  in  the  same  style  as  our  spree  at  No- 
velles,  (tell  H.  C.,)  inasmuch  as  the  man  candidly 
owned  it  would  take  him  an  hour  to  catch  his 
horse,  which  was  "  somewhere  "  on  the  other  side 
of  the  valley  "at  play."  We  were  in  no  hurry,  and 
the  view  was  pretty,  so  we  waited  for  him  and 
trusted  !  It  turned  out  to  be  quite  a  nice  little 
carriage  with  a  most  lively  horse,  and  H.  C.  would 
have  appreciated  the  driving,  which  was  like  the 
spin  we  had  down  from  Chamouni  to  St.  Gervais. 
The  drive  was  delicious,  and  the  evening  lovely. 
Viesch  lies  in  a  charming  hollow,  just  below  the 
Viescher  glacier  and  the  Viescherhorner,  which 
are  over  12,000  feet.  Its  own  level  is  2,800,  so 
we  had  descended  five  thousand  feet  in  the  day. 
Our  bags  were  waiting  for  us  as  usual;  sending 
them  on  by  "post"  is  most  convenient,  and  saves 
all  trouble  and  porterage;  the  average  expense 
is  about  tenpence  a  day. 

The  Viesch  hotel  is  primitive,  and  the  maid 
scampered  out  to  fill  our  ewers  and  water  bottles 
at  a  general  village  spring  and  large  trough  formed 
of  half  a  hollow  tree.     The  morning  was  lovely, 


LETTERS   IN   187 1.  135 

and  we  were  up  before  four,  and  off  at  5.15  for 
the  ^Eggischhorn,  and  by  5.30  the  sun  was  over 
the  shoulder  of  the  opposite  mountain,  and  struck 
us  with  such  power  we  were  glad  to  get  into  the 
pine  woods  and  be  sheltered;  this  was  the  hardest 
walk  we  ever  had  in  our  lives,  the  steepest  possible 
track  nearly  the  whole  way,  rising  straight  up  to 
7,372  feet.  It  took  us  exactly  four  hours,  includ- 
ing one  half  hour's  rest  and  several  odd  minutes' 
halt.  We  had  some  refreshment,  and  then  lay 
down  and  went  fast  asleep  for  two  hours  and  a 
half,  waking  up  quite  jolly,  and  as  if  we  had  had 
another  night,  just  as  we  did  at  the  Furca,  but 
are- just  in  the  same  fix  as  there  !  It  clouded  over 
when  halfway  up,  and  since  we  got  in  has  been 
raining  heavily,  just  clearing  suddenly  once,  giv- 
ing us  a  grand  view  of  the  other  side  of  the  valley 
entirely  filled  up  with  rolling  grey  clouds  far  below 
us.  So  we  have  no  alternative  but  to  take  a  day's 
rest,  a  day  in  the  ordinary  sense,  as  we  got  here 
at  9.15,  but  we  had  done  enough  for  one  day 
before  that,  for  though  not  seven  miles  of  actual 
distance  it  is  more  real  work  than  over  twelve 
down  hill  yesterday.  We  shall  not  get  our  letters 
till  Tuesday,  and  shall  have  been  a  fortnight  en- 
tirely cut  off  from  communication;  but  we  find 
it  so  much  best  to  plan  only  a  day  in  advance; 
the  local  information  we  get  as  to  what  is  before 


136  SWISS   LETTERS. 

us  is  much  better  than  guidebooks  and  we  can 
also  do  more  or  less  as  we  feel  inclined. 

We  have  not  come  in  contact  with  a  single 
English  tourist,  nor  heard  a  word  of  English  yet. 
The  winter  on  the  Furca  would  be  too  lonely  even 
for  us;  they  say  two  men  and  a  big  dog  stay  up 
there  all  the  seven  months'  winter,  and  only  come 
down  once  or  twice,  so  that  they  are  often  three 
months  without  seeing  any  living  thing  except 
hares,  which  sometimes  stray  over.  On  the  St. 
Gothard  pass,  which  is  not  nearly  so  high,  there 
is  regular  sledge  traffic  all  the  winter,  and  men 
constantly  employed  to  keep  a  track  open. 

In  coming  down  from  the  Furca  we  passed  in 
many  places  between  great  walls  of  snow  through 
which  the  road  had  been  cut;  in  one  place  the 
wall  was  at  least  fifteen  feet  deep. 

I  find  letters  are  going  to  be  sent  at  5.30,  but  I 
pity  the  bearer,  for  we  are  in  a  dense  fog  and  we 
see  no  sign  of  clearing  for  to-night. 

LETTER   IV. 

July  7,  4.30  p.m.  Sitting  on  the 
rocks  above  the  Bel  Alp  Hotel, 
about  7,500  feet  high. 

Hitherto  we  have  gone  on  in  a  grand  cres- 
cendo, and  have  not  finished  it  yet.  Yesterday, 
Thursday,   we   jumped    up    at   four   a.m.   for   the 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 1.  137 

sunrise,  but  seeing  nothing  but  fog  retired  again. 
From  six  to  ten  it  was  great  excitement  to  watch 
the  cloud  possibilities;  they  seemed  to  be  going 
head  over  heels  just  below  us,  whirling  and  drift- 
ing and  breaking  and  closing  in  the  most  chaotic 
way,  in  every  shade  of  grey  from  nearly  black  to 
dazzling  white.  Just  before  ten  they  rolled  off 
altogether,  and  as  we  were  quite  ready  for  this 
we  set  off  for  the  yEggischhorn.  There  is  a  guide 
here,  Fischer,  who  is  famous,  and  the  best  in  the 
district;  but  he  was  pre-engaged;  however,  we 
got  Alexander  Binner,  a  very  fatherly  and  watch- 
ful specimen,  quite  a  ladies'  guide.  He  insisted 
on  our  starting  slowly,  and  consulted  and  patron- 
ized us  in  general.  We  have  to  learn  by  experi- 
ence; we  thought  we  were  excellently  got  up  for 
the  work  by  wearing  waterproof  dresses  with  a 
flannel  jacket  underneath,  but  we  soon  found  it 
necessary  to  peel,  and  actually  went  up  in  our 
petticoats !  You  can't  think  how  hot  one  gets 
in  climbing,  even  among  the  snow.  A  little  way 
up  we  heard  a  great  yell  (guides  here  make  a 
point  of  yelling  if  they  spy  one  a  mile  or  more 
away),  and  presently  we  met  a  young  Alpine 
Clubbist,  whom  E.  found  she  knew  by  name  as 
a  distant  connection  of  hers  !  The  guides  rushed 
at  each  other  most  affectionately,  and  to  my  de- 
light I  found  that  they  were  the  celebrated  Ulrich 


138  SWISS    LETTERS. 

and  Christian  Lauener,  whom  I  have  often  seen 
mentioned  in  books.  The  young  fellow  had  been 
sleeping  with  .them  in  the  cave  of  the  Faulberg, 
in  order  to  go  up  the  Jungfrau  at  two  a.  m.,  but 
the  fog  prevented. 

I  cannot  in  conscience  say  I  kept  my  promise 
that  day,  because  in  one  sense  there  was  "  danger," 
for  had  we  slipped  in  some  places  it  would  have 
been  no  trifle;  but  I  never  feel  giddy,  and  I 
have  a  sure  foot  I  am  certain,  and  never  feel  the 
least  nervous.  Alexander  told  us  after,  that 
when  he  heard  we  were  new  to  real  mountain 
work  he  had  made  up  his  mind  we  could  not 
reach  the  top,  but  after  he  had  seen  us  get  over 
the  first  snow  and  rocks  he  was  quite  satisfied  ! 
Fischer  told  Alexander  I  "  went  like  a  chamois," 
and  that  he  was  astonished  how  quickly  and 
easily  I  got  up  a  very  difficult  climb  where  he 
watched  me  from  above.  I  tell  you  this  because 
I  always  had  an  instinct  that  I  should  find  myself  a 
rather  extra  good  climber  if  I  ever  had  the  chance 
of  really  proving  it.  The  "  P.  S.  G."  calls  it  "  a  se- 
vere climb  "  in  any  case,  and  the  snow  makes  it  now 
far  more  difficult  and  interesting.  We  crossed 
and  ascended  some  great  snow  slopes  like  those 
awful  looking  things  one  sees  in  Swiss  photos; 
one  crossing  was  quite  a  third  of  a  mile  along  the 
middle  of  a  slope  of  steep  unbroken  snow,  about 


LETTERS    IN   187 1.  1 39 

six  hundred  feet  high.  The  guide  goes  first, 
treading  down  the  snow  over  soft  places,  and  we 
follow  exactly  in  his  track;  but  each  step  is  a 
separate  business,  you  stand  firm  and  take  time 
to  plant  each  foot,  not  the  least  like  walking,  and 
as  long  as  one  does  this  there  can  be  no  danger, 
for  if  there  are  hidden  holes  the  guide  of  course 
tumbles  in  first,  and  we  stand  still  wThile  he  gets 
out  and  tries  for  a  better  footing.  E.  got  one 
plunge  into  soft  snow  up  to  her  waist,  but  that 
sort  of  thing  does  not  hurt,  and  getting  wet  is  no 
consideration  at  all !  Near  the  top  it  is  very  pre- 
cipitous, and  we  climb  with  hands  quite  as  much 
as  feet. 

The  top  itself  is  9,649  feet  high,  and  commands 
one  of  the  very  finest  views  in  Switzerland.  You 
look  sheer  down  on  the  Aletsch,  the  largest 
Swiss  glacier,  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  long,  with 
great  ice  tributaries.  Above  it,  close  beyond,  N. 
and  N.W.,  the  grandest  heights  of  the  Oberland, 
Aletschhorn,  Finsteraarhorn,  Jungfrau,  Monch, 
Eiger,  etc.  South-west  rise  the  Weisshorn  and 
the  Mischabel,  a  many-peaked  giant  and  the  high- 
est Swiss  mountain,  and  between  them,  quite  lone- 
ly and  most  grim  looking,  the  Matterhorn.  South- 
east lies  the  whole  Rhone  valley,  bounded  by 
Monte  Leone,  a  superb  snow  ridge,  and  other  half' 
Italian  mountains.    The  St.  Gothard  range  follow, 


140  SWISS   LETTER S. 

and  the  Viescherhorner  quite  near,  and  between 
12,000  and  13,000  feet  high,  fill  up  the  circle. 
Just  imagine  !  Col  de  Balm  is  nowhere  compared 
to  this  !  We  stayed  an  hour  on  the  top  in  brilliant 
sunshine,  seeing  the  view  as  favorably  as  possible 
short  of  a  sunrise,  and  devoured  hard-boiled  eggs, 
red  wine,  and  bread  enough  to  last  one  a  week  at 
home.  Of  course  we  were  in  an  awful  pickle  when 
we  got  down,  about  3.30,  and  went  to  bed  and  to 
sleep  while  our  clothes  dried !  For  the  first  time 
we  went  to  table  d'hote,  and  were  lucky,  for  there 
were  only  two  besides  ourselves,  and  they  Alpine 
Club  men,  and  it  was  as  good  as  a  book  to  hear 
them.  E.'s  friend  had  such  an  escape  two  days 
before,  that  even  Lauener  turned  white;  the  largest 
avalanche  the  guides  ever  saw,  four  hundred  feet 
wide,  came  upon  them  "like  a  flash"  ;  they  saw  it, 
and  were  just  in  time  to  clear  it,  in  three  seconds 
it  was  at  rest,  1,500  feet  below.  He  said  "one 
half  minute  later  on  the  path,  and  they  must 
have  been  all  killed." 

In  the  evening  we  strolled  out  and  saw  an  ex- 
quisite sunset;  Weisshorn  and  Mischabel  especially 
splendid  in  golden  rose  light,  not  the  least  speck 
of  cloud,  and  the  sky  all  flushed  with  wonderful 
tints  like  an  aurora.  You  can't  see  these  things 
unless  you  sleep  up  high;  the  finest  valley  sunset 
is  quite  a  different  article. 


LETTERS    IN   jS/I.  141 

July  8. — Yesterday  we  were  greatly  disgusted 
at  oversleeping  ourselves,  so  that  we  started  at  six 
instead  of  four  a.m.  We  got  Fischer  for  this  walk, 
one  of  the  noted  guides;  such  a  nice  fellow,  has 
been  up  the  Jungfrau  seventeen  times,  five  times 
in  one  summer.  Though  it  was  a  good  five  hours 
walk  to  Bel  Alp,  not  counting  any  stoppages,  we 
were  not  at  all  tired,  it  was  so  delightful.  The  first 
two  hours  lay  through  the  high  summer  pastures, 
and  we  passed  some  fine  herds  of  lovely  cows,  so 
much  prettier  I  think  than  ours,  especially  those 
which  look  like  soft  fawn-colored  satin;  all  had 
bells  of  course.  We  stopped  at  a  chalet  on  the 
Riederalp,  and  had  milk,  rich  and  sweet,  and  Al- 
pine strawberries.  Then  we  crossed  the  ridge  be- 
tween the  Rhone  valley  and  the  Aletsch,  and  had 
a  long  descent  to  the  glacier  through  pine  woods 
with  little  glades  and  vistas,  and  no  end  of  flowers 
and  perfect  peeps  of  the  snow  mountains.  It  was 
too  good  to  hurry  through,  so  we  sat  down,  and 
Fischer  sang  us  a  Swiss  song  with  jodeln  ad  lib. 
I  got  him  to  dictate  me  the  words,  and  then  I 
learnt  the  tune,  the  " jodeln"  is  harder  than 
Handel,  and  most  awkward  to  get  into.  The 
glacier  was  absurdly  easy  to  cross,  being  rough 
and  dirty,  and  we  did  not  even  go  near  any  big 
crevasses.  The  last  hour  was  more  fatiguing 
than  all  the  rest  together,  as  it  was  fearfully  hot, 


142  SWISS   LETTERS. 

and  a  very  steep  shadeless  path  up  the  sunny 
side  of  the  glacier  bank;  so  we  rested  repeatedly, 
but  got  to  Bel  Alp  at  noon. 

To  give  you  an  idea  af  the  sun's  power  among 
the  snow:  I  went  up  the  JEggischhorn  without 
gloves,  this  gives  a  firmer  grasp  of  the  alpen- 
stock; but  it  resulted  in  my  right  hand  being  so 
burnt  that  I  have  worn  a  wet  handkerchief  on  it 
for  two  days,  it  is  just  as  if  it  were  badly  scalded. 
What  niggers  we  shall  be  in  complexion  when  we 
come  home  ! 

Bel  Alp  is  after  the  fashion  of  the  Rigi,  only 
more  than  two  thousand  feet  higher,  and  snow 
peaks  are  much  nearer,  indeed  close.  People  pen- 
sion here  a  good  deal.  Summer  chalets  are  dotted 
about  all  round;  there  are  plenty  of  cows,  and 
to  my  great  entertainment  goats,  who  climb  most 
charmingly  among  the  rocky  bits  behind  the  hotel. 
Again  we  had  a  lovely  sunset,  and  the  whole  day 
not  one  speck  of  cloud;  it  is  very  hot  by  day,  but 
gets  deliciously  cool  and  refreshing  at  night. 

To-day,  July  8,  has  been  the  best  of  all !  We 
had  secured  Anton  Walden,  the  best  guide  here, 
for  the  Sparrenhorn,  which  is  nearly  ten  thousand 
feet  high,  right  above  the  hotel.  Another  lady, 
a  Miss  Anstey,  wished  to  join  us,  her  mother,  an 
energetic  elderly  lady  up  to  a  good  deal,  but  not 
to  this,  making  a  great  favor  of  it,  as  she  was  so 


LETTERS   IN   l8jl.  1 43 

very  glad  for  her  daughter  to  have  the  opportunity. 
So  we  chummed,  and  made  all  arrangements  over 
night,  ordering  coffee  at  3.30  a.m.  We  made  our 
actual  start  at  3.54.  Now  I  have  seen  it  at  last,  a 
real  Alpine  dawn  and  sunrise  to  perfection  !  When 
we  came  out  we  saw  the  "  daffodil  sky"  which 
Tyndall  describes,  in  the  east,  a  calm  glory  of 
expectant  light,  as  if  something  positively  celestial 
must  come  next,  instead  of  merely  the  usual  sun. 
In  the  south-west  the  grandest  mountains  stood 
white  and  perfectly  clear,  as  if  they  might  be  wait- 
ing for  the  resurrection,  with  the  moon  shining  pale 
and  yet  radiant  over  them,  the  deep  Rhone  valley 
dark  and  gravelike  in  contrast  below.  As  we  got 
higher  the  first  roseflush  struck  the  Mischabel,  and 
then  Weisshorn  and  Monte  Leone  came  to  life 
too;  real  rose,  with  something  you  had  to  per- 
suade yourself  was  rose  color,  only  it  was  rose- 
fire,  delicate  yet  intense.  The  Weisshorn  was  in  its 
full  glory,  looking  more  perfectly  lovely  than  any 
earthly  thing  I  ever  yet  saw,  when  the  tip  of  the 
Matterhorn  caught  the  red  light  on  its  evil-looking 
rock  peak.  It  was  just  like  a  volcano,  and  looked 
rather  awful  than  lovely,  and  gave  me  the  impres- 
sion of  an  evil  angel  impotently  wrathful,  shrink- 
ing away  from  the  serene  glory  and  utter  purity 
of  a  holy  angel  which  that  Weisshorn  at  dawn 
might  represent  if  anything  earthly  could. 


144  SWISS   IETTERS. 

The  eastern  ridges  were  almost  jet,  in  front  of 
the  great  golden  glow  into  which  the  "  daffodil 
sky"  heightened.  By  4.30  it  was  all  over,  for  as 
soon  as  the  sun  was  up  the  coloring  all  changed 
to  ordinary  daylight  hues,  and  thenceforth  we  de- 
voted ourselves  to  getting  up  to  Sparrenhorn  and 
that  alone  !  I  think  one  cannot  take  in  overmuch 
beauty  at  once;  I  hardly  looked  at  anything  for 
a  long  time  after  this  great  dawn  splendor  was 
over. 

Now  we  found  the  practical  advantage  of 
starting  early.  The  Sparrenhorn  is  a  little  far- 
ther, a  little  higher,  and  a  little  more  difficult  than 
the  ^Eggischhorn,  and  yet  we  did  it  in  about  the 
same  time,  with  much  less  fatigue,  and  without 
getting  into  any  pickle  as  to  raiment.  For  the 
snow  was  quite  hard  frozen,  and,  being  very  un- 
even, was  quite  easy  walking,  except  when  very 
steep,  and  then  Walden  picked  out  little  steps  with 
his  ice  axe  almost  as  fast  as  we  cared  to  mount 
them.  Coming  down  I  had  the  felicity  of  two 
real  good  glissades,  which  were  immense  fun,  be- 
sides some  sliding.  One  glissade  I  did  quite  alone; 
the  other  was  a  capital  long  one  with  Walden's 
hand,  and  it  was  such  fun,  he  caught  his  foot  and 
was  all  but  down,  and  I  held  him  up;  he  laughed 
no  end  at  this,  and  gave  me  full  credit  for  it.  The 
view  from  the  top  was  much  the  same  style  as 


LETTERS    IN   1 87 1.  145 

from  the  yEggischhorn,  not  so  panoramic,  but  very 
fine.  There  was  plenty  of  rock  climbing,  quite  to 
my  mind.  Miss  Anstey  is  sister  of  an  Alpine 
Clubbist,  and  seems  very  strong  and  up  to  mount- 
aineering; but  E.  and  I  agree  that  we  have  no 
personal  acquaintance,  at  least  in  the  lady  line, 
who  would  do  to  make  a  third  with  us,  all  things 
considered  !  However,  no  one  can  judge  of  what 
they  can  do  here  by  what  they  can  do  in  England, 
as  to  strength.  We  got  to  the  top  at  6.30,  and 
were  down  again  by  8.45,  just  as  most  of  the 
folks  here  were  breakfasting. 

I  fully  meant  to  go  to  sleep  all  the  morning, 
but  did  not  feel  the  least  tired  or  sleepy,  only  a 
little  stiff;  so  I  have  had  a  general  lazy  day  out 
of  doors  by  myself,  getting  flowers,  reading  and 
writing,  and  have  postponed  my  lying  down  till 
after  dinner. 

I  had  some  little  talks  with  Anton  Walden,  who 
is  superior  and  intelligent.  In  response  to  some 
remark,  he  quoted  a  verse  from  Hebrews  to  my 
surprise.  He  explained  this  by  telling  me  that  an 
English  lady  visitor  here  had  sent  him  a  beautiful 
New  Testament;  "it  is  forbidden  to  read  it,  but  I 
read  it  nevertheless."  I  told  him  I  did  not  know 
it  was  forbidden  in  Switzerland.  "Oh,  yes!"  he 
said,  "it  is  entirely  forbidden.  The  one  end  and 
aim  of  the  priests  here  is  to  keep  the  people  in 


146  SWISS   LETTERS. 

stupidity  and  ignorance,  so  that  they  may  do 
what  they  like  with  them.  They  cannot  bear 
that  any  one  should  read  the  New  Testament  for 
themselves,  they  know  that  would  not  do;  but 
there  are  a  few  free  spirits  among  us  who  read  not- 
withstanding." I  spoke  to  him  about  asking  for 
the  Holy  Spirit  to  teach  one  whenever  one  read 
the  Testament  (which  is  all  he  has),  and  he  said: 
"Yes!  that  was  just  what  he  thought  too;  he 
had  found  that  out  of  his  book,  and  had  prayed 
for  the  Holy  Spirit."     Was  it  not  nice  ? 

This  hotel  is  the  best  placed  I  ever  saw,  it  is 
corner-wise  somehow,  so  that  every  window  com- 
mands a  fair  view  of  something 'fine;  we  have  a 
corner  room  with  windows  looking  two  ways,  both 
beautiful.  It  will  be  a  delightful  place  for  Sunday. 
There  is  a  chaplain,  Rev.  Mr.  Phillips  and  Mrs.  P.; 
but  I  am  disappointed  to  find  that  he  is  not 
C.  C.  C.  S.  There  are  about  fifteen  people  in 
the  house,  not  more,  it  is  such  a  late  season. 

LETTER  V. 

Hotel  des  Alpes,  Zermatt,  July  u. 
Rain  always  comes  conveniently  for  us  !  So  now 
having  got  here  all  right  without  a  drop  this  morn- 
ing, and  being  comfortably,  housed  entirely  to  our 
mind,  it  is  raining  furiously,  and  the  edges  of  the 
clouds  are,  I  think,  literally  not  more  than  twenty 


LETTERS    IN   187 1.  147 

yards  off,  up  the  mountain  side.  You  wished  that 
"the  Angel  might  go  before  us,"  and  certainly  the 
prayer  seems  to  have  been  answered,  for  anything 
more  entirely  hitch-less  than  our  whole  progress 
has  been  could  not  possibly  be;  even  the  little  bad 
weather  we  have  had  always  comes  when  it  is 
rather  agreeable  than  otherwise,  and  it  is  quite  ex- 
traordinary how  every  little  decision  as  to  where  or 
how  or  when  to  go,  or  do  anything,  invariably  turns 
out  to  be  apparently  the  best  and  pleasantest  we 
could  have  done:  really  far  too  uniformly  so  for  us 
to  attribute  it  to  anything  but  the  "good  hand 
of  our  God  upon  us."  The  Furca-horn  adventure 
was  the  only  seeming  exception,  and  that  was 
rather   fun   after  all ! 

Sunday  at  Bel  Alp  was  splendid:  quite  different 
mountain  effects,  grand  but  distant  tempest  clouds 
massed  in  great  castles  and  towers  and  peaks  over 
and  among  the  mountains,  always  giving  more 
grandeur  and  beauty  than  they  ever  hid,  while  all 
continued  serene  and  sunny  at  Bel  Alp  till  quite 
late  evening,  and  deliciously  warm  without  being 
oppressive.  About  nine  p.m.  a  thuderstorm  came 
over,  which  laid  the  dust  and  cooled  the  air  for 
Monday's  hot  transit  over  the  Rhone  valley,  and 
ensured  a  brilliant  morning. 

The  services  were  the  most  rapid  I  ever  was  at, 
just  one  hour  and  twenty-five  minutes  in  the  morn- 


148  SWISS   LETTERS. 

ing,  including  sermon  and  Communion,  and  forty 
minutes  in  the  evening,  including  sermon.  Rev. 
J.  E.  P.,  of  W.,  gave  us  about  ten  minutes  of  com- 
monplace and  stiffsermons.  Mrs.  P.  chose  hymns, 
very  nice  ones,  out  of  S.  P.  C.  K.:  "How  sweet 
the  name"  and  such  like;  went  the  round  of  the 
few  ladies  in  the  hotel  to  get  some  one  to  start 
the  singing;  no  one  would,  and  she  came  to  E. 
last  of  all,  who  of  course  referred  her  to  me. 

Monday,  the  ioth,  we  ordered  coffee  at  five  but 
did  not  get  off  till  nearly  six,  which  we  now  consider 
a  sadly  late  start !  H.  C.  ought  to  come  to  Switzer- 
land again  on  purpose  for  Bel  Alp,  it  combines  so 
many  things.  Beside  the  superb  views  and  ex- 
cursions, one  gets  such  a  charming  bit  of  Swiss 
pastoral  life.  The  hotel  stands  alone,  with  grass 
and  heather  and  flowers  all  round;  and  dotted  all 
about  beyond  are  numbers  of  the  summer  chalets, 
with  no  end  of  funny  little  children.  In  the  middle 
of  the  day  we  see  only  a  few  odd  cows  and  goats, 
but  in  the  evening  the  creatures  come  pouring  in 
from  the  bits  of  high  pasture  in  all  directions. 
They  all  come  of  themselves,  are  never  fetched, 
and  never  miss  or  come  late.  In  the  evenings  we 
could  hardly  pay  attention  to  anything  but  the 
goats;  they  came  trooping  down  the  rocks,  gener- 
ally gambolling,  and  most  amusing  in  their  ways. 
They  are  most  inquisitive  and  very  tame,  always 


LETTERS   IN   187 1.  1 49 

came  up  to  look  at  us  in  a  most  comical  way,  and 
often  let  us  pat  and  play  with  them.  There  were 
numbers  of  pretty  little  kids  and  calves  too;  all 
this  was  so  new  and  amusing 

Bel  Alp  is  the  best  place  I  have  yet  seen  for 
combining  real  mountain  life  with  most  comfort- 
able accommodation  and  very  moderate  charges. 
It  only  cost  us  exactly  £1  each  for  three  whole 
days,  including  wine  and  everything;  we  were 
quite  sorry  to  leave. 

We  walked  or  scrambled  all  the  way  down  to 
Brieg,  nearly  five  thousand  feet  lower;  and  did 
not  halt,  unless  for  a  minute  to  look  at  a  view, 
for  three  hours  and  twenty-five  minutes,  and  were 
not  a  bit  tired  !  Then  we  indulged  in  diligence 
six  miles  to  Visp,  an  odious  place  in  spite  of  the 
mountains  around,  all  marsh,  and  flies,  and  heat, 
and  malaria.  We  had  dinner  and  a  short  rest,  and 
then  walked  up  the  first  stage  of  the  Zermatt  val- 
ley to  Stalden,  about  five  miles  and  a  half,  a 
lovely  spot  at  the  junction  of  the  Zermatt  and 
Saas  valleys.  Here  we  had  coffee  and  rest  again, 
and  I  got  a  native  shoemaker  to  arm  my  boots 
with  immense  rough  square  Swiss  nails,  which  do 
not  slip  either  on  ice  or  steep  grass  slopes. 

We  intended  staying  the  night,  but  felt  so  very 
lively  that  we  actually  set  off  again  by  six  p.  m., 
and  walked  to  St.  Nicholas,  another  six  miles  and 


150  SWISS   IETTERS. 

a  half.  Altogether  we  must  have  done  over  twenty 
miles  walking  in  the  day.  Of  course  we  went  to 
bed  when  we  got  in  at  8.15,  but  I  did  not  feel  at  all 
used  up,  and  we  walked  a  good  seven  miles  this 
morning  just  as  if  we  had  done  nothing.  We  could' 
not  possibly  have  done  it  but  for  the  very  oppor- 
tune weather,  for  a  most  handy  thunderstorm  came 
on  while  we  dined  at  Visp,  which  cooled  the  air;  I 
can  do  nothing  in  heat,  but  almost  any  amount  if 
cool.  Our  long  early  walks  are  what  enable  us  to 
get  over  the  ground  so  well.  We  are  both  dis- 
appointed with  Zermatt  at  first  sight,  but  then  the 
Matterhorn  and  Monte  Rosa  have  not  been  visible 
yet.  We  took  a  carriage  from  Ronda  after  our 
early  walk,  so  as  to  get  in  here  fresh,  and  speer 
about  for  quarters  to  suit  our  views,  which  we  soon 
found.  "Hotel  des  Alpes  "  is  unpretending  but 
very  clean;  we  have  a  little  room  each,  close  to- 
gether, deal  furniture,  but  all  new  and  sufficient; 
we  have  two  windows  each,  commanding  three 
different  looks  out,  and  are  higher  up  than  any 
other  hotel  here,  and  have  the  most  charming 
Swiss  waitress.  We  are  to  have  everything,  for 
excursions  or  not,  for  four  shillings  a  day  each, 
and  we  thought  this  was  to  be  the  dearest  place 
of  all !  We  drank  some  milk,  and  told  them  to 
give  us  anything  they  liked  for  dinner  at  one. 
Whereupon  we  had  five  courses  all  to  ourselves; 


LETTERS   IN   iS/I.  151 

we  told  them  three  would  do  in  future.  (Oh  if 
you  could  but  see  the  rain  !)  We  have  no  definite 
plans,  as  we  cannot  cross  the  St.  Theodule  except 
in  settled  weather,  nor  do  the  Allee  Blanche,  but 
we  shall  call  for  letters  at  Aosta  not  later  than, 
the  21st.  E.'s  uncle  and  cousin  are  at  a  large 
hotel  here;  they  have  come  nearly  the  same  way 
as  we  have,  but  their  journey  has  been  a  suc- 
cession of  mishaps  and  the  most  complete  con- 
trast to  ours,  yet  tJuy  are  travelling  en  grand 
seigneur.  Their  story  made  us  realize  how  much 
we  have  to  be  thankful  for. 

LETTER    VI. 

July  13,  10  a.  m.     Sitting  above  the 
Riffel  Hotel  (8,000  feet). 

I  am  intensely  hoping  Miss  Anstey  may  be  here 
to-day  (which  is  not  unlikely),  as,  if  so,  I  go  at  once 
to  the  very  top  of  all  my  Alpine  ambition.  She 
and  I  are  wild  to  go  up  the  Cima  di  Jazi,  13,000 
feet !  and  yet  the  safest  in  all  Switzerland  for  any- 
thing that  height.  We  should  sleep  at  a  chalet 
two  hours  and  a  half  up,  for  the  ascent  to  take 
only  four  or  five  hours  in  the  morning.  E.  will  not 
attempt  it,  as  long  ascents  try  her  breath,  and  I 
am  not  so  demented  as  to  go  without  a  lady  com- 
panion, so  if  Miss  A.  does  not  turn  up  I  shall  resign 
the  idea.  Wednesday  was  too  doubtful  a  morning 
for  any  serious  excursion,  so  we  went  for  a  walk, 


152  SWISS    LETTERS. 

and  E.  turned  off  to  call  on  her  uncle,  and  I  found 
an  old  woman  knitting  and  tending  goats  in  a 
lovely  dingle,  so  I  sat  down  by  her  and  read  out  of 
fthe  German  Testament,  apparently  to  her  intense 
delight,  and  had  a  most  interesting  talk  with  her. 
After  that  I  had  nothing  particular  to  do;  the 
Gorner  glacier  was  looking  most  bewitching,  hard- 
ly three  miles  off,  so  what  could  I  do  but  walk  to- 
wards it  and  to  it  ?  I  did  not  meet  a  living  soul, 
and  enjoyed  immensely  being  so  utterly  alone  in  a 
most  wild  and  beautiful  spot,  where  a  seemingly 
full-grown  river  rushes  mightily  out  of  a  great  dark- 
blue  ice  cave,  with  great  ice  pinnacles  up  above, 
and  the  full  catalogue  of  Alpine  beauty  all  around. 
I  am  so  desperately  cautious,  that  being  alone 
I  did  not  attempt  to  go  upon  the  glacier  itself, 
although  one  part  looked  perfectly  safe  and  easy, 
but  only  scrambled  a  little  about  the  terminal 
moraine.  I  gathered  a  white  lily,  only  one,  most 
lovely  and  lonely,  like  our  yellow  garden  lilies. 
Zermatt  is  in  a  different  zone  of  flowers;  yellow 
globe  flowers,  large  campanulas,  two  very  bright 
rock  pinks,  and  some  intense  crimson  rock  flowers 
preponderate.  On  my  way  back  some  little  white 
clouds,  which  looked  far  too  innocent  to  be  hiding 
anything,  suddenly  broke  off,  and  there  was  the 
Matterhorn  right  above;  the  weirdest,  most  unreal 
looking  spectre  of  a  mountain  you  can  imagine. 


LETTERS    IN   187 1.  153 

It  is  unquestionably  the  most  striking-  single  ob- 
ject I  ever  saw  or  expected  to  see.  How  it  ever 
entered  any  mortal  brain  to  think  of  scaling  it  I 
cannot  understand.  It  stands  quite  alone,  no 
connection  with  any  other  mountain  or  range,  and 
seems  not  simply  peaked  and  perpendicular,  but 
actually  to  hook  over.  Why  it  does  not  tumble 
over  bodily  seems  a  mystery ! 

In  the  afternoon  we  took  a  horse  between  us  to 
the  Z'mutt  glacier,  the  path  thither  being  the  object 
rather  than  the  glacier,  which,  though  curious,  is 
very  ugly,  covered  with  reddish  stones.  It  took  us 
about  four  hours  and  a  half,  but  we  did  not  get  the 
full  benefit  of  our  nag,  as  the  path  was  so  atrocious 
that  the  guide  actually  did  not  let  us  ride  more 
than  twenty  minutes  of  the  way  back.  Part  of  it 
was  so  narrow  that  two  people  could  not  possibly 
walk  abreast,  with  a  precipice  at  least  a  thousand 
feet  straight  down  from  the  edge.  But  it  was  a 
most  paying  excursion  as  to  beauty,  and  totally 
changed  our  ideas  of  Zermatt;  it  is  considered 
only  a  second  rate  excursion  by  many,  and  yet  it 
is  one  of  the  very  finest  things  either  of  us  have 
seen.  We  went  close  under  one  side  of  the  Matter- 
horn,  which  looks  unique  from  anywhere;  its  base 
there  consists  of  extraordinary  square  cut  snow 
terraces,  one  above  another,  perfectly  perpendic- 
ular.    We  waited  for  a  cow  to  be  milked  for  our 


154  SWISS   LETTERS. 

benefit   at   a   pitch  dark  chalet,  where  the   poor 
people  live  without  either  window  or  chimney. 

This  morning  we  walked  up  here,  handing  our 
waterproofs  and  knapsacks  half  way  to  a  luckily 
met  baggage  mule.  Every  ounce  seems  to  make  a 
difference  to  my  walking  powers  up  hill;  I  have 
even  cut  up  my  "  Practical  Guide,"  and  carry  three 
leaves  at  a  time  to  save  weight.  Sometimes  we 
catch  a  small  boy  and  charter  him  to  carry  these 
wretched  waterproofs,  which  are  never  anything 
between  an  unmitigated  nuisance  and  an  absolute 
necessity.  We  are  camped  out  now  for  the  rest  of 
the  morning;  there  are  patches  of  snow  round  us, 
but  the  sun  is  hot  and  the  air  fresh  and  delicious. 

Friday,  July  14,  8.30  a.m. — 10,200  feet  high 
at  this  moment  !  on  the  Gorner  Grat,  said  to 
be  simply  "  the  finest  mountain  panorama  in 
Europe  !  "  Not  many  letters  are  dated  from  here 
I  fancy,  for  it  strikes  me  we  are  doing  a  rather 
original  thing  in  spending  a  morning  and  writing 
up  here. 

To  go  back;  yesterday  afternoon  we  merel) 
took  a  general  scramble  to  see  what  we  could,  and 
had  no  end  of  fun  in  jumping  little  snow  torrents, 
and  contriving  how  to  get  across  melting  snow 
and  round  snow  beds.  You  can't  think  what  a  boy 
I  feel;  it  does  so  entirely  occupy  my  mind  where 


LETTERS    IN   iS/J.  155 

to  set  the  next  step  or  take  the  next  jump;  no 
need  to  tell  me  not  to  think  or  talk;  why  we 
should  sprain  our  ankles  if  we  gave  our  minds  for 
two  minutes  to  anything.  Mr.  Snepp  wanted  me 
to  write  hymns,  but,  dear  me,  he  has  not  been  in 
Switzerland  !  My  only  chance  for  that  would  be 
if  we  got  entirely  shut  up  in  the  clouds  for  two 
or  three  days. 

We  made  all  arrangements  over  night;  our  guide 
was  to  call  us  (it  seems  to  be  the  guide's  duty,  not 
at  all  the  chambermaid's  !)  if  it  was  fine,  not  other- 
wise. We  ordered  coffee  soon  after  2.30  a.m;  they 
were  not  punctual,  and  we  had  the  aggravation  of 
waiting  till  3.5  before  we  could  get  fairly  off.  How- 
ever we  had  the  consolation  of  breakfasting  with 
a  party  of  gentlemen  starting  for  Cima  di  Jazi, 
and  a  gentleman  who  with  two  guides  wras  off  for 
Monte  Rosa.  There  was  a  faint  clear  light  in  the 
east,  and  the  snow  mountains  glimmered  like 
ghosts;  but  otherwise  it  was  quite  dark,  though  it 
rapidly  brightened.  We  made  a  great  effort  to  go 
fast,  and  succeeded  in  gaining  the  first  Gorner  Grat 
just  before  the  very  first  touch  of  rose  came.  It  is 
really  exciting  and  wonderful  and  thrilling,  be- 
yond almost  anything,  to  see  that  first  marvellous 
rose-fire  suddenly  light  up  peak  after  peak.  I 
think  it  beats  the  Hallelujah  Chorus  !  We  waited 
half  an  hour  till  the  sun  was  fairly  up,  as  we  should 


156  SWISS    LETTERS. 

have  lost  by  going  on.  Everything  was  frozen, 
and  a  great  deal  of  hard  snow  to  cross,  so  odd 
on  the  14th  of  July  ! 

About  five  o'clock  we  got  up  here;  it  is  an  ex- 
ceptionally glorious  morning;  at  first  a  few  tiny 
clouds  floating  about  and  waving  like  streamers 
from  the  highest  peaks;- now  it  is  absolutely  cloud- 
less, unbroken  deep  blue  above,  and  a  perfect  cir- 
cle of  the  highest  mountains  in  Europe  enclosing 
enormous  glaciers  around  us.  Monte  Rosa,  the 
nearest  of  all,  looks  a  stone's  throw  across  a  glacier 
valley.  Till  just  now,  when  some  tourists  came  up, 
we  have  not  heard  a  sound  except  a  very  distant 
waterfall  several  thousand  feet  below,  and  one 
adventurous  little  bird  that  must  have  lost  its  way. 
We  sent  our  guide  off,  so  as  to  stay  ad  lib.  There 
is  a  little  space  at  the  top  here,  partly  rock  and 
partly  stony,  where  we  walked  like  hyenas  back- 
wards and  forwards  (about  three  yards)  to  keep  up 
circulation  till  the  sun  got  power,  which  it  did  soon 
after  six.  Then  we  read  a  little,  and  then  I  went 
to  sleep  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  then  another 
hyena  promenade,  then  breakfast  on  hard  eggs 
and  bread  and  red  wine.  Then  some  German 
tourists  came  up  as  hungry  as  wolves,  and  were 
quite  thankful  for  a  bit  of  bread  we  could  spare. 
It  is  quite  hot  now,  and  not  a  breath  of  wind;  had 
there  been  we  could  not  have  stayed  so  long;  the 


LETTERS   IN   iS/I.  1 57 

clearness  is  extraordinary,  so  different  from  yester- 
day, when  the  peaks  kept  up  a  sort  of  sublime  bo- 
peep  among  the  clouds.  An  avalanche  somewhere 
towards  the  Matterhorn  has  just  fallen  with  a  long 
deep  solemn  roar;  no  one  saw  it,  only  heard  it. 
There  is  snow  all  around  us,  i.e.  on  three  sides;  on 
the  fourth  there  is  none,  because  it  is  a  precipice. 

Monday,  1 1  a.m. — Up  atop  of  the  Hornlein,  a 
sort  of  impudent  sucker  sprouting  from  the  root  of 
the  Matterhorn.  I  could  not  finish  half  I  had  to 
say  on  the  Gorner  Grat,  as  some  Americans  came 
up  and  made  an  awful  clatter  and  quite  broke  the 
spell  of  the  place.  We  consequently  started  down 
soon  after  ten,  and  entirely  lost  our  way,  got  into 
a  sort  of  labyrinth  of  snowdrifts  and  rocks;  you 
see  this  unprecedentedly  late  snow  makes  every- 
thing unusually  difficult.  We  got  into  no  danger, 
only  a  little  extra  delay  and  fatigue. 

In  the  afternoon  we  came  leisurely  down  from 
the  Riffel  to  our  pet  hotel  at  Zermatt,  where  we 
had  an  amusingly  gushing  welcome,  as  we  are  in 
great  favor,  especially  with  two  particularly  nice 
Swiss  waitresses,  who  simply  worship  us.  It  is 
quite  odd  the  fancy  they  have  taken  to  us;  they 
watch  for  our  return  from  every  walk,  and  run  to 
meet  us  and  carry  up  our  things. 

Saturday  we  really  kept   our  resolution  to  be 


158  SWISS   LETTERS. 

quiet,  and  only  camped  out  all  the  morning  a  mile 
off  in  a  pine  wood,  and  had  an  ordinary  walk  in 
the  evening.  Sunday  was  just  brilliant  all  day;  a 
nice  little  church,  Chamouni  style,  but  very  few 
there.  Chaplain  Mr.  A.,  a  young  curate;  sermon 
no  harm,  but  very  young  and  mild.  Service 
otherwise  very  nice;  good  reader.  E.'s  uncle  and 
cousin  staying  over  Sunday;  the  latter  a  warm 
hearted  little  thing  and  a  recent  Young  Women's 
Christian  Association  member. 

This  morning,  Monday,  brilliant  again.  When 
I  came  down  to  breakfast  about  4.40  a.m.,  the 
Matterhorn  looked  like  an  obelisk  of  solid  gold, 
a  most  peculiar  effect,  for  on  that  side  we  see  no 
other  snow  peak,  and  all  below  it  was  still  in 
shadow,  deep  green  and  brown,  and  nothing  be- 
tween this  and  the  one  immense  golden  rock. 

We  have  come  in  for  a  piece  of  peculiar  good 
fortune.  We  had  no  intention  of  doing  anything 
grand  to-day,  but  took  food  and  went  without  a 
guide  to  the  Schwarzee,  a  lovely  little  lake,  per- 
haps seven  thousand  feet  high,  reflecting  the  snow 
summit  exquisitely.  By  our  host's  directions  we 
found  the  way  easily,  and  got  there  at  8.30,  having 
started  at  five.  On  the  way  we  fell  in  with  cows 
and  goats  and  a  boy,  so  we  made  him  milk  a  goat 
for  us  into  E.'s  tincup,  while  we  held  its  horns  ! 

We  only  got  one  little  cupful  apiece,  and  wanted 


LETTERS   IN  187 1 \  159 

the  child  to  catch  and  milk  another.  He  declined 
entirely,  saying  the  others  were  not  his  own,  and 
therefore  he  could  not;  only  that  one  belonged 
to  him.  Was  not  this  wonderfully  honest  ?  Of 
course  we  took  care  he  did  not  lose  by  it.  We 
camped  at  the  Schwarzee,  but  very  soon  saw  Mr. 
Whit  well  (E.'s  connection)  coming  near  with  two 
guides  and  a  porter,  on  his  way  for  five  hours  up 
the  Matterhorn,  intending  to  do  the  worst  part 
early  to-morrow.  He  had  never  been  up  this 
Hornlein,  which  is  not  much  out  of  the  Matterhorn 
route,  so  we  had  the  advantage  of  following  him 
and  his  guides  all  up  here  to  my  great  delight. 

We  are  in  such  good  training  that  we  did  it 
easily  enough,  especially  as  there  was  very  little 
snow  to'cross;  but  I  don't  think  you  have  the  least 
notion  of  the  sort  of  places  we  get  up  now.  Tell 
H.  C.  we  should  not  now  count  Pierre  a  l'Echelle 
at  all  among  our  proper  good  climbs  !  Anything 
under  nine  thousand  feet  does  not  count  at  all ! 
Mr.  W.  and  his  party  are  gone,  and  we  have  been 
some  time  quite  alone;  and  there  will  be  no 
more  tourists,  as  it  is  too  late  for  early  birds,  and 
it  is  far  too  much  for  an  afternoon  excursion. 
The  view  is  nearly  as  fine  as  from  the  Gorner  Grat, 
but  not  so  panoramic,  because  we  are  close  under 
the  Matterhorn. 


160  SWISS   LETTERS. 

Tuesday,  July  18. — We  stayed  a  good  while  on 
the  Hornlein,  and  when  we  did  come  down  we 
found  we  had  the  hardest  work  we  have  yet  done; 
we  clambered  up  so  delightedly  that  we  never  took 
in  what  a  complete  precipice  it  was,  and  infinitely 
harder  to  come  down  than  going  up  could  be. 
However,  we  got  down  without  the  least  slip  or 
nervousness.  It  is  simply  a  question  of  making 
each  foot  sure  before  you  remove  the  other  or  re- 
plant your  alpenstock.  We  find  the  Hornlein  is 
about  the  height  of  the  Gorner  Grat,  and  anywhere 
else  it  would  be  a  very  grand  rocky  peak;  but  as 
it  juts  out  in  front  of  the  Matterhorn,  it  seems  part 
of  it,  and  does  not  interfere  with  the  unity  of  the 
enormous  single  peak. 

We  were  out  from  five  a.m.  to  6.30  p.m.,  pretty 
well  of  oxygen  for  one  day,  and  we  did  not  feel 
over  tired. 

To-day  we  are  really  taking  it  quietly,  as  we 
must  be  off  at  two  a.m.  to-morrow  for  the  Col  de  St. 
Theodule,  the  highest  of  all  the  passes,  1 1,000  feet. 
All  the  telescopes  in  Zermatt  are  at  work  upon  the 
Matterhorn.  This  morning  Mr.  W.  was  visible  not 
very  far  from  the  top,  i.e.,  three  movable  black 
dots  supposed  to  be  himself  and  the  guides.  We 
have  done  all  the  excursions  here  except  Cima  di 
Jazi,  as  Miss  Anstey  has  not  turned  up.  Zermatt 
itself  is  not  equal  to  Chamouni  on  the  whole,  but 


LETTERS   IN   l8j I.  161 

some  of  the  views  when  one  gets  to  them  (the  mule 
paths  and  others  are  the  worst  I  ever  saw)  are  as 
grand,  and  much  wilder  and  more  astonishing. 
The  contrasts  are  very  great,  some  of  the  loveliest 
quietest  little  dingles  imaginable.  You  might  be 
in  England  or  Wales,  all  green  and  ferny  and 
shady,  little  tumbling  brooks  and  stepping  stones; 
and  then  you  look  up  and  see  something  fifteen 
thousand  feet  high  through  the  branches  ! 

LETTER    VII. 

July  20.     Noon. 
Chatillon,  in  the  Val  oTAosta. 

We  are  safely  and  pleasantly  over  our  grand 
affair  and  one  great  extravagance,  the  Pass  of  St. 
Theodule,  and  after  floundering  in  snow  yesterday 
morning  have  been  eating  ripe  figs,  apricots,  and 
pears  this  morning.  We  ordered  coffee  at  1.30 
a.m.,  and  got  fairly  off  by  two,  with  a  most  gushing 
farewell,  the  host  insisting  on  presenting  us  with  a 
bottle  of  some  special  red  wine  for  our  journey  as 
a  token  of  regard  !  We  had  quite  a  cavalcade,  a 
guide  en  chef,  Schaller,  and  another  engaged  as 
porter,  but  who  did  not  think  fit  to  carry  my 
carpet  bag,  and  transferred  it  to  a  sub.  Also  a 
man  with  E.'s  horse,  and  another  with  my  mule. 
It  was  clear  cloudless  starlight,  and  therefore  not 
dark,  when  we  got  away  from  the  lights  of  the 


1 62  SWISS   IETTERS. 

hotel.  It  was  very  curious,  this  silent  march  under 
the  stars,  and  quite  novel,  along  a  roaring  glimmer- 
ing white  river  and  over  a  little  foot  bridge,  and 
then  up  into  the  blackness  of  the  pines,  and  at  last 
out  above  them  just  as  a  little  quiver  of  paleness 
began  to  show  where  the  dawn  was  to  be  looked 
for.  We  saw  some  shooting  stars,  and  then  E.  saw 
a  meteor,  and  towards  three  a.m.  I  saw  a  splendid 
meteor  in  the  north-west,  as  large  and  bright  as 
a  crescent  moon,  but  lasting  only  two  or  three 
seconds.  The  progress  of  dawn  was  most  inter- 
esting, so  gradual  and  lovely;  but  the  sunrise  itself 
was  not  so  fine  as  some  we  have  seen,  being  golden 
only  and  not  rosy.  But  we  had  to  perfection  that 
pale,  clear,  saintly,  expectant  light  on  the  great 
white  mountains,  which  I  think  so  peculiarly 
beautiful,  before  any  color  comes  upon  the  world, 
and  some  singular  reflections  of  gold  clouds  upon 
snow  slopes,  themselves  in  shadow. 

We  did  not  ride  all  the  way  to  the  foot  of  the 
Theodule  glacier  as  a  few  do,  for  Schaller  said  it 
was  really  dangerous,  and  very  little  saving  of 
fatigue,  being  sheer  scrambling  over  rocks;  so 
though  the  creatures  had  shown  themselves  aston- 
ishingly knowing  in  picking  a  way  over  most 
dreadful  places  already,  we  dismounted  and  dis- 
missed them.  Most  of  the  path  had  been  just  a 
track  creeping  along  and  up  the  side  of  tremen- 


LETTERS   IN   iS/I.  163 

dously  steep  slopes,  with  the  great  Gorner  glacier 
down  so  many  hundred  feet  below.  Even  I  sub- 
mitted to  have  my  animal  led  by  a  little  chain,  a 
thing  I  never  gave  in  to  before.  How  horrified 
you  would  have  been  at  my  attire  !  for  on  alight- 
ing we  took  off  every  possible  thing,  even  the 
skirts  of  our  dresses,  and  I  proceeded  with  sim- 
ply my  grey  linen  unlined  body  on,  and  not  even 
a  necktie,  between  four  and  five  a.m.,  and  over  ice 
and  snow.  It  is  experience  that  it  is  the  best 
plan,  one  walks  lighter,  and  the  expertion  keeps 
one  warm  enough,  while  if  one  wears  jackets,  etc., 
one  only  gets  hot,  and  then  runs  risk  of  getting 
a  chill.  I  believe  girls  catch  more  colds  than  boys, 
because  they  have  so  much  extra  on  to  go  out  in, 
and  consequently  get  warm  and  thereupon  get 
chilled.  I  remember  my  own  agonies  at  being 
"wrapped  up  "when  I  was  a  little  girl,  though 
I  was  not  extra  coddled  in  that  way. 

The  almost  unprecedented  snow  here  greatly 
diminished  instead  of  increasing  our  difficulties,  for 
the  upper  glaciers  are  firmly  snowed  over,  crevasses 
and  all,  so  that  our  grand  affair  turned  out  less  dif- 
ficult than  some  smaller-sounding  things  we  have 
done.  Schaller  was  very  wroth  on  reaching  the 
glacier  to  find  that  the  rope  had  been  forgotten 
by  Biner,  but  the  snow  was  in  such  good  condition 
that  it  proved  to  be  not  at  all  necessary  though 


1 64  SWISS   IE  TIERS. 

usually  an  essential  for  this  pass.  It  was  a  long 
pull  of  nearly  three  hours  up  the  snow,  never  steep 
enough  to  need  steps  cutting  with  ice  axes,  as  on 
the  Sparrenhorn,  and  not  in  any  way  exciting, 
except  for  the  wonderfully  wild  snowy  scene  all 
round,  right  up  among  the  enormous  heights  of 
Monte  Rosa,  Matterhorn,  etc.  We  were  surprised 
how  little  fatigued  we  were,  but  this  was  proba- 
bly owing  to  Shaller's  determined  management 
of  us;  he  would  not  let  us  go  beyond  a  very  quiet 
pace,  said  we  should  get  palpitation  at  that  height 
if  we  did,  and  insisted  on  our  eating  a  little  and 
drinking  red  wine.  He  says  it  is  a  great  mistake 
in  mountaineering  to  go  on  till  you  get  a  little 
exhausted. 

On  the  top  of  the  col  we  halted  (and  then  was 
the  time  to  put  a  shawl  on  !):  such  a  strange, 
wild  scene,  a  vista  into  a  great  misty  depth,  was 
Italy;  but  otherwise  it  was  all  grand  and  solemn 
and  pure,  snow  summits  far  too  high  for  either  dirt 
or  noise.  There  is  a  hut  on  the  top,  the  walls  of 
which  were  built  by  De  Saussure  nearly  a  hundred 
years  ago  for  his  scientific  experiments,  now  the 
guides  went  and  smoked  in  it  !  It  is  the  highest 
dwelling  (so  called)  in  Europe.  In  ordinary  sea- 
sons a  man  would  be  found  here,  and  wine,  but  no 
one  has  come  yet  this  year,  and  the  floor  was  ice, 
with  the  old  straw  for  beds  frozen  into  it.    I  picked 


LETTERS   IN  187 1.  165 

up  a  feather  very  near  the  hut,  which  I  send  as  a 
relic  to  Johnnie;  can  he  tell  what  bird  it  belongs 
to  ?  I  don't  think  many  of  his  relations  will  send 
him  feathers  from  eleven  thousand  feet  high.  We 
only  stayed  about  twenty  minutes,  for  the  snow 
softens  every  minute,  and  in  the  afternoon  might 
be  even  dangerous.  It  was  about  eight  when  we 
started  down  on  the  Italian  side,  and  we  were  soon 
plunging  and  floundering  in  soft  snow.  I  found  I 
had  a  great  advantage  in  being  so  much  lighter 
than  the  others,  though  I  got  let  in  sometimes. 

About  eleven  we  got  to  Brend,  a  nice  little  inn 
below  the  snow  and  above  the  first  chalets.  Here 
we  went  to  sleep,  guides  and  all;  and  to  my  ex- 
treme astonishment,  when  we  fairly  roused  up  and 
felt  like  morning,  it  was  nearly  three  p.m.  So  we 
had  made  up  for  our  short  night,  and  felt  quite 
fresh,  and  as  if  another  day  had  begun.  After 
dinner  we  had  a  lovely  evening  walk  down  through 
magnificent  gorges  to  Val  Tournanche,  only  five  or 
six  miles  more;  and  we  were  perfectly  ready  to 
start  again  at  5.30  this  morning,  and  walked  more 
than  thirteen  miles  down  to  Chatillon,  dined  there 
at  eleven,  and  have  had  an  hour's  siesta  after  it. 

It  was  "  like  a  book,"  only  a  great  deal  better, 
to  watch  the  gradual  development  of  vegetation 
during  our  uninterrupted  descent  of  ten  thousand 
feet.     On  the  col  not  even  a  lichen,  then  down 


X 


1 66  SWISS    LETTERS. 

through  Alpine  lichens  and  mosses  to  gentians  and 
glacier  anemones,  every  mile  bringing  us  into  a 
different  zone  of  flowers:  then  pines,  then  birch  and 
hayfields,  then  ash  and  standing  corn,  then  wal- 
nuts and  chestnuts  and  reaped  corn,  and  now  vines 
and  every  kind  of  Italian*  greenery  and  fruit.  It 
was  more  than  passing  in  a  day  from  January  to 
July,  for  the  extremes  are  greater  than  English 
winter  and  summer;  perhaps  from  Spitzbergen  to 
Italy  represents  it  better,  without  seven-league 
boots.  It  was  well  that  it  was  quite  cloudy  part 
of  our  way,  or  we  should  have  found  the  snow 
more  trying  than  we  did,  even  with  veils  and 
dark  spectacles;  we  had  a  few  showers,  but  noth- 
ing to  hurt  or  hinder.  Down  here  they  have  had 
none,  and  it  is  as  hot  and  dusty  as  can  be,  with 
flies  equal  to  Visp  or  Egypt.  It  is  a  very  pictur- 
esque place,  rather  like  Freiburg,  only  Italian  in 
character;  a  beautiful  bridge  of  one  high  arch 
spanning  a  tremendous  gorge  close  to  the  hotel, 
and  peeps  of  snow  mountains  over  an  almost  trop- 
ical valley. 

July  22,  7.30  a.m.  Perched  on  rocks  just  above 
Courmayeur;  Mont  Blanc,  aiguilles,  and  all, 
glorious  before  us ! 

I  hated  Chatillon,  could  not  settle;  hotel  dusty 
and  awfully  hot,  just  what  I  dislike;  so  we  left 


LETTERS    IN   1 87 1.  1 67 

1 1.4.30  by  diligence,  and  reached  Aosta  at  7.30. 
We  were  obliged  to  go  inside;  however  I  was  con- 
soled by  getting  an  opportunity  of  airing  my  Ital- 
ian with  some  Turin  people;  I  got  on  better 
than  I  expected,  and  think  I  should  soon  get 
pretty  fluent.  I  am  disappointed  to  find  that 
in  this  Val  d'Aosta  they  speak  almost  entirely 
French;  and  if  not  this,  Piedmontese,  which  is  a 
hideous  patois,  as  ugly  as  Welsh,  and  not  at  all 
like  Italian.  Next  morning  we  did  Aosta  pretty 
thoroughly  before  9.30  a.m.  First  we  had  a  su- 
perb walk  up  to  a  church,  St.  Marguerite,  which 
commands  a  magnificent  view  of  the  whole  val- 
ley (weather  magnificent  too;  always  is  when  we 
want  it !).  It  is  very  beautiful  indeed,  wide  and 
grand,  with  two  rivers  winding  below  three  sep- 
arate sets  of  grand  snow  mountains  in  the  open- 
ings of  the  lower  ranges,  town  itself  a  picture, 
with  towers  and  bridge,  and  plenty  of  walnut 
and  chestnut  trees  and  vineyards,  to  fill  up. 

We  were  in  ecstasies  with  a  little  village  perched 
on  a  green  shelf  of  the  mountain,  every  separate 
house  a  picture  with  galleries  and  gables,  and  the 
spaces  between,  one  mass  of  arcading  of  vines 
trained  on  stone  pillars  and  wooden  trellises  above, 
surpassing  the  prettiest  Italian  pictures  you  evef 
saw  It  is  literally  "sitting  under  his  vine  "  ;  and 
the  natives  did  look  so  cool  and  picturesque  in  the 


1 68  SWISS    LETTERS. 

shade,  quite  enviable.  This  expedition  took  us 
about  two  hours,  and  then  I  actually  went  all  about 
the  town.  This  is  the  first  time  we  have  slept 
in  one  since  Lucerne,  and  the  first  time  we  have 
slept  below  three  thousand  feet;  but  then  Aosta 
is  really  uncommon,  not  merely  Italian,  but  full  of 
such  fine  Roman  remains  as  I  did  not  know  could 
be  seen  out  of  Rome,  massive  arches  and  towers 
in  wonderful  preservation  and  most  interesting. 
We  gave  a  fruit  woman  twopence  and  my  bag 
to  put  what  she  liked  in.  I  thought  she  would 
never  stop,  and  on  counting  for  curiosity  there  were 
thirteen  plums,  fourteen  apricots,  and  five  large 
pears  !  Walking  along  this  valley  does  not  do 
after  seven  a.m.,  so  we  went  by  diligence  at  10.30 
seventeen  miles  to  Morgex  by  about  three  o'clock; 
some  folks  could  have  "  walked  backwards  "  quite 
as  fast.  We  heard  a  great  deal  of  talk  about  the 
king,  who  is  now  "  in  the  mountains"  hunting  a 
beast  of  the  chamois  kind,  but  peculiar  to  one 
mountain  district  south  of  Aosta.  He  seems  im- 
mensely popular  here;  they  told  us  with  great 
satisfaction  that  he  always  speaks  Piedmontese 
"enfamille,  and  to  us,  though  he  can  speak  all 
the  other  languages,"  and  that  he  is  "  un  vrai 
montagnard,"  and  enjoys  above  all  things  getting 
away  to  the  mountains,  and  that  he  camps  out 
quite  near  the  snow  for  three  days  at  a  time,  and 


LETTERS   IN   187 1.  169 

is  "a  wonderful  shot  and  never  misses,"  and  vari- 
ous other  items  of  praise. 

Morgex  was  very  lovely,  but  horribly  hot,  and 
I  have  had  quite  enough  of  Italian  valleys  and 
am  delighted  to  be  nearer  the  snow  again  at 
Courmayeur,  which  was  about  seven  miles  farther. 
I  must  have  been  either  a  ptarmigan  or  a  chamois, 
if  I  transmigrated,  before  turning  up  as  F.  R.  H.; 
mountains  do  suit  me,  and  no  mistake.  At  Mor- 
gex I  tumbled  about  on  a  mattress  all  the  after- 
noon; it  was  too  hot  to  sleep,  and  too  hot  to  go 
out,  and  even  too  hot  to  have  the  windows  open. 
However,  the  enormous  shadow  of  Mont  Blanc 
brings  early  evening,  and  soon  after  six  the 
whole  valley  was  in  shadow  and  we  had  a  nice 
walk. 

Owing  to  a  fortunate  mistake,  we  have  had 
the  most  exquisite  sunrise  of  all.  We  ordered 
coffee  at  3.30,  and  to  be  called  at  three,  thinking, 
as  these  Italians  are  unpunctual,  we  might  get  off 
at  four.  They  did  call  us,  and  we  thought  it  a 
very  dark  morning;  and  when  I  had  finished 
dressing,  I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  it  was  just 
2.20.  We  were  not  sorry,  for  a  Mr.  Wade  we  met 
at  Aosta  (brother  of  the  ambassador  at  Pekin) 
warned  us  that  it  would  be  an  awfully  hot  walk 
if  once  the  sun  got  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
mountain.     So  we  set  off  at  three  under  the  stars 


170  SWISS    LETTERS 

again,  with  a  delicious  breeze  coming  straight  down 
from  Mont  Blanc  to  meet  us.  The  dawn  was 
perfection  and  cloudless,  except  some  fairy  flakes 
of  pink  and  gold,  and  one  little  pale  bell  of  cloud 
half  way  up  the  monarch.  But,  when  the  rose-fire 
touched  Mont  Blanc  itself,  and  spread  down  to 
meet  the  little  cloud,  the  glory  of  it  was  entirely 
indescribable.  E.  said,  "the  most  heavenly  thing 
upon  earth,"  and  there  it  must  rest,  for  one  can't 
say  more.  I  always  thought  people  colored  these 
sunrises  a  little,  but  that  is  simply  impossible; 
even  Ruskin  will  not  over-paint  them.  "  Fade 
into  the  light  of  common  day"  has  great  signifi- 
cance; for  though  the  splendor  lasted  longer  than 
usual  this  morning,  it  is  only  a  matter  of  fifteen 
minutes  at  most;  and  if  one  misses  that,  one  may 
just  as  well  not  get  up  till  eight.  Had  we  started 
at  four,  we  should  have  had  little  if  any  view  of 
Mont  Blanc,  owing  to  the  bend  of  the  valley;  as 
it  was,  we  reached  the  very  finest  point  of  view 
at  the  right  moment. 

Courmayeur  is  most  charming,  grand  and  lovely 
combined,  decidedly  beats  Zermatt.  Fortunately 
Mr.  Wade  recommended  us  to  Hotel  Mont  Blanc, 
which  we  never  should  have  found  for  ourselves; 
a  quiet  hotel -pension  half  a  mile  away  from 
Courmayeur,  and  on  the  grandest  site,  quite  to  our 
liking;  we  are  pensioned  at  about  $s.  ^d.  a  day. 


LETTERS    IN   I<9/I.  171 

We  are  camped  out  for  the  morning;  there  are 
no  goats  to  play  with,  but  pretty  little  green  and 
brown  lizards  scampering  about  the  rocks,  which 
do  as  well,  and  make  a  change  ! 

A  wrinkle  for  Maria,  which  seriously  I  should 
think  worth  introducing  for  poor  people  at  Wyre 
Hill !  At  our  pet  hotel  at  Zermatt  we  had  hay 
duvets  !  of  course  too  hot  for  July,  but  must  be 
most  comfortable  in  winter,  and  quite  as  much 
warmth  as  a  good  blanket.  Just  a  large  doubled 
square  of  colored  print,  neat  and  clean,  lightly 
filled  with  loose  hay !  What  a  boon  they  would 
be  in  hard  winters,  and  they  could  be  made  of  any 
old  stuff  for  almost  nothing.  I  shall  try  it  myself 
for  very  poor  people,  if  it  comes  a  hard  winter. 

The  bread  on  this  side  the  Alps  is  most  queer; 
the  waiter  brings  a  small  clothes  basket  full  of 
bread,  and  puts  a  handful  like  a  little  sheaf  by 
each  party  on  the  table.  It  is  in  strips  about  two 
feet  long,  size  of  my  little  finger,  very  crisp  and 
nice.  They  give  other  bread  or  roll,  but  these 
sticks  are  evidently  the  leading  idea. 

The  hours  here  are  most  original.  We  are  sup- 
posed to  have  coffee  early,  when  we  like;  then  at 
10  a.m.  a  dejeuner  table  d'hote;  this  was,  first  a 
white  grainy  compound  with  grated  cheese  sup- 
posed to  be  soup,  then  sliced  German  sausage  and 
bread  and  butter,  then  very  good  cutlets  and  fried 


172  SWISS   LETTERS. 

potatoes,  then  stewed  pears,  then  cheese,  then 
apricots,  etc.  The  second  table  d'hote  is  at  five. 
There  are  about  thirty-two  Italians  and  Piedmon- 
tese  in  the  house,  no  English;  they  are  rather 
noisy,  but  very  amusing  to  watch.  After  break- 
fast we  strayed  into  the  salon  de  lecture,  and  found 
a  tolerable  piano,  the  first  we  have  had;  so  natur- 
ally I  sat  down,  there  being  only  two  ladies  in  the 
room,  played  a  bit,  and  finally  sang.  I  was  rather 
startled  after  the  latter  performance  to  hear  a  ve- 
hement round  of  clapping.  I  had  no  idea  of  it,  but 
the  room  had  filled  quietly;  I  had  my  back  to  them, 
and  found  I  had  a  room  full  of  Italians  as  audience, 
quite  a  new  thing  for  me  !  and  they  seemed  amaz- 
ingly pleased.  Actually  the  waiters  brought  more 
chairs  in,  seeing  the  concourse,  to  my  great  amuse- 
ment; so  what  could  I  do  but  yield  to  the  re- 
quests, and  sing  two  more  songs  !  We  are  not 
the  least  tired  as  yet,  but  mean  to  have  three 
hours'  siesta;  we  always  make  up  our  short 
nights. 

LETTER  VIII. 

Courmayeur,    Wednesday,   July  26. 

We  could  not  have  beds  in  our  pension,  and  the 
hotels  were  full,  so  we  slept  in  a  pigsty  of  a  cot- 
tage where  nothing  was  clean  except  the  beds.    It 


LETTERS   IN   iS/I.  173 

was  too  late  to  make  a  fuss,  but  we  made  up  our 
minds  to  live  out  all  day  and  decamp  on  Monday 
morning". 

Sunday  was  tolerably  pleasant.  Services  quite 
delightful,  though  there  were  only  seven  English 
and  a  few  foreign  spectators.  Chaplain  Mr.  Phinn, 
from  Dorsetshire;  two  lovely  little  sermons,  all  one 
could  wish,  and  not  stiff  and  unappropriate  like 
some  others  we  have  had.  The  hymns  went  so 
capitally  in  the  morning  that  Mr.  P.  put  on  four 
hymns  in  afternoon  service;  he  is  almost  a  match 
for  Mr.  Snepp  at  it !  And  really  we  seven  English, 
Mr.  P.  included,  made  the  little  Vaudois  chapel 
ring  again,  and  did  a  good  deal  better  than  many 
a  congregation  of  ten  times  as  many.  Mr.  P. 
knows  many  of  dear  papa's  own  tunes  well,  and 
his  especial  favorite  is  Zoheleth,  which  he  says 
every  one  is  struck  with  who  hears  it,  as  far  as  his 
experience  goes. 

We  were  to  have  gone  early  on  Monday  to 
Mont  de  Saxe,  but  a  really  tremendous  thunder- 
storm came  on  with  torrents  of  rain,  so  we  got  up 
late,  and  did  not  finish  breakfast  till  nearly  seven. 
It  was  fair  then,  but  too  late  for  Mont  de  Saxe, 
which  is  a  special  sunrise  affair,  so  we  walked  off 
to  the  Pavilion  de  Mont  Blanc,  which  is  exactly 
parallel  to  Pierre  Pointue  on  the  opposite  side,  and 
about  the  same  height.     Not  having  slept  properly 


174  SWISS   LETTERS. 

for  three  nights,  we  found  it  rather  a  pull,  and 
clouds  came  down  on  the  aiguilles,  and  Mont 
Blanc  might  have  been  in  England  for  all  we  saw 
of  him,  and  an  old  Swiss  farmer  told  us  there 
would  be  "  le  vent  et  la  grele  et  la  phiie  and  all 
that  was  bad."  So  we  raced  down  again  and  got 
to  the  hotel  before  two.  Thereupon  it  cleared 
up  and  was  a  lovely  afternoon,  and  we  wished  we 
had  stayed.  Next  morning  we  started  with  a 
mule  and  guide  for  Mont  de  Saxe;  it  was  fair 
enough  till  we  were  near  the  top,  and  then  it 
began  to  snow,  and  snowed  all  the  time  till  we 
got  down  to  rain  level,  and  then  it  rained  all  the 
day  in  such  a  style  that  you  would  not  think  it 
could  go  on  like  that  for  ten  minutes  longer. 
We  gained  our  hotel  by  eleven. 

My  proofe  had  come  late  the  evening  before,  so 
I  sat  down  to  make  the  best  of  it  in  the  salon  de 
lecture  (as  we  had  no  room),  but  did  not  get  on 
at  all  well,  as  the  Italians  fidgeted  in  and  out  and 
played  cards  and  piano.  We  had  decided  we 
could  not  go  on  this  way  any  more,  so  poor  E. 
went  off  to  Courmayeur  in  the  rain,  and  after 
going  everywhere,  finding  all  full,  to  her  great 
delight  got  a  comfortable  and  fairly  quiet  room, 
only  very  dark  and  no  look  out,  at  the  Hotel 
Royale.  Still  we  hailed  this  and  departed  as  to 
a  sort  of  refuge,  and  had  a  very  good  night. 


LETTERS   IN   187 1.  1 75 

The  Italians  made  a  great  fuss  at  our  departure, 
and  want  me  to  come  back  and  sing  again.  Each 
time  I  touched  the  piano  the  whole  company 
flocked  in  from  all  sides,  it  was  most  amusing  ! 
All  are  staying  en  pension,  which  is  why  we  could 
have  no  room.  At  table  d'hote  at  Hotel  Royale 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Phinn's  places  were  next  ours,  and 
Mr.  P.  talked  most  interestingly;  such  a  nice  man. 
They  had  called  on  us  at  Hotel  Mont  Blanc,  which 
is  what  a  chaplain  ought  to  do  I  think,  so  I  was 
gratified. 

This  morning  proved  perfectly  magnificent, 
which  was  tantalizing,  but  I  determined  to  buckle 
to  and  had  a  good  steady  five  hours'  work  on 
my  proofs  in  an  open  air  gallery  without  any  dis- 
tracting view  except  a  brilliant  sky. 

Friday,  July  28. — Still  at  Courmayeur !  So  far 
I  had  written  in  a  delicious  den,  a  discovery  of 
E.'s,  a  shallow  cave  under  a  rock  a  little  way  up 
Mont  de  Saxe,  cool  and  sha  ly,  and  commanding 
a  grand  front  view  of  Mont  Blanc,  with  a  little 
white  pillar  of  cloud  on  the  very  top. 

Yesterday  I  had  a  very  satisfactory  proof  morn- 
ing. In  the  afternoon  we  had  a  stiff  climb  up  the 
shoulder  of  Mont  Chetif,  whose  Courmayeur  face 
is  a  striking  precipice,  and  whose  top  is  a  curious 
cone  of  rock;  there  is  a  tolerable  path  up  a  gorge 


176  SWISS   LETTERS. 

which  leads  to  a  ridge  below  the  cone,  from  this 
you  get  an  astonishing  face  to  face  view  of  the 
most  precipitous  side  of  Mont  Blanc  (too  steep 
for  any  snow  to  stick),  and  the  immense  ice-fall 
of  the  great  Glacier  du  Brenva.  The  summit  of 
Mont  Blanc  was  almost  entirely  veiled,  but  that 
seemed  almost  to  enhance  the  weird  sublimity 
of  the  view. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Phinn  asked  us  to  come  to  tea 
to  meet  Costabel  the  Vaudois  missionary  pastor, 
stationed  at  Courmayeur.  This  was  very  interest- 
ing. He  is  a  simple,  good  man,  very  cordial  and 
communicative,  and  he  told  us  a  good  deal  about 
Vaudois  work,  etc.;  the  talk  was  all  in  French. 
Costabel  is  very  isolated  here,  and  has  only  a  few 
poor  Christian  friends,  and  never  any  superior 
society  unless  English  find  him  out.  Mr.  P.  has 
thoroughly  taken  him  up,  and  they  go  long  walks 
together.  He  told  us  the  fear  of  death  among  the 
people  here  is  awful,  that  he  is  frequently  present 
at  the  most  painful  death  scenes.  During  life  and 
health  they  leave  everything  to  the  priest,  and 
believe  that  he  will  make  it  all  right  for  them,  and 
except  complying  with  certain  forms  do  not  think 
or  trouble  themselves  about  religion  at  all.  Then 
when  they  are  dying  they  get  alarmed,  and  see 
that  this  natural  shifting  of  their  religion  upon  the 
priest  will  not  do,  they  lose  confidence  in  him,  and 


LETTERS    IN  187 1.  1 77 

have  no  other;  they  want  peace  and  have  none; 
they  would  like  to  feel  assured,  but  they  have  no 
assurance,  and  die  in  the  agonies  of  terror.  It 
was  terrible  to  hear  Costabel's  description  of  what 
he  says  is  the  rule  as  to  death-beds.  "  Unto  the 
poor  the  gospel  is  preached,"  and  he  says  it  is  so 
here,  that  only  the  poor  will  listen  to  him  and  those 
in  the  outlying  villages  where  no  priest  resides. 

We  find  the  people  here  quite  different  from  the 
Swiss,  and  not  so  ready  to  accept  Gospels,  etc. 
It  is  the  first  place  where  on  offering  one  we  have 
been  asked  "if  it  was  a  Protestant  book."  How- 
ever they  always  end  by  taking  them. 

We  did  so  hope  to  have  got  away  this  morning, 
and  now  I  fear  we  cannot  get  to  Chamouni  at  all. 
The  Allee  Blanche  is  a  route  which  is  worse  than 
lost  by  going  in  bad  weather,  and  Courmayeur  is 
in  such  a  hole  that  you  cannot  get  out  of  it  with- 
out going  over  some  great  pass,  unless  you  do  two 
days'  diligence  to  Torca  and  round  by  Turin,  or 
go  back  to  Aosta  and  over  the  Great  St.  Bernard 
to  Martigny.  Although  Courmayeur  has  been  the 
scene  of  our  only  mistakes  and  misfortunes,  I  more 
than  ever  think  that  either  for  strong  or  weak  folk 
it  is  the  very  best  place  I  know  of  for  making  a 
long  stay;  the  walks  and  excursions  are  inexhaust- 
ible, grand  ones  for  mountaineers  and  lovely  little 
easy  ones  for  invalids.    Valleys  and  gorges  fork  in 


178  SWISS   LETTERS. 

all  directions.  It  is  totally  different  from  Cha- 
mouni,  which  is  one  grand  valley,  and  even  better 
than  Zermatt  in  this  respect.  It  is  on  a  gentle 
slope,  some  height  above  the  noisy,  foaming  Dora, 
and  so  has  not  the  perpetual  roar  which  is  such  a 
drawback  to  Swiss  enjoyment.  If  the  rivers  would 
but  go  to  sleep  at  night,  what  a  relief  it  would  be  ! 
I  shall  take  your  advice  about  not  overdoing  one- 
self the  last  thing  before  coming  home;  I  found 
my  broken  nights  took  down  my  strength  to 
English  level,  and  I  was  quite  fagged  in  getting 
up  Mont  de  Saxe,  but  one  good  night  set  me  up 
again.  I  certainly  have  not  been  so  well  for 
years,  and  I  am  so  sunburnt  it  will  take  two 
winters  to  bleach  me. 

CHAnu.     Saturday,  5.30  p.m. 

We  have  got  off  at  last;  the  weather  was  not 
hopeful,  but  we  ordered  a  mule  and  provisions, 
and  set  out  at  five  a.m.  in  the  highest  spirits,  and 
there  was  the  most  transparent  dawn-sky  imagi- 
nable, not  a  cloud,  and  a  delightful  north  wind, 
which  is  an  infallible  sign  of  first-rate  weather. 

As  we  passed  our  old  hotel  (Mont  Blanc)  we 
found  a  caravan  of  about  eighteen  mules  and 
nearly  as  many  guides,  and  all  the  Italian  gentle- 
men pensioning  there  (no  ladies)  were  going  to 
the  Col  de  la  Seigne  for  the  day. 


LETTERS   IN   iS/I.  1 79 

I  wish  H.  C.  could  have  seen  the  shiftless 
southerners  attempting  to  mount;  four  of  them 
had  actually  got  on  a  low  wall  to  mount  from 
while  the  guides  were  trying  to  poke  the  animals 
close  enough  for  them.  We  hastened  on,  not 
wishing  to  get  mixed  up,  and  kept  ahead  the 
whole  way,  five  hours,  though  we  were  alternately 
on  foot,  and  got  to  the  top  just  before  them.  We 
chose  our  spot  to  lunch,  and  they  camped  at  a  lit- 
tle distance,  with  many  bows  and  "  Bon  appetit !  " 
and  other  small  foreign  civilities  as  they  passed  us. 

When  we  had  finished  and  were  moving  off  they 
shouted  to  us  to  stay,  and  all  rose  and  came  to  us 
offering  wine  and  fruit,  and  saying  they  wished  to 
propose  a  toast  and  drink  with  us  before  we  left. 
It  was  far  too  gracefully  done  to  refuse;  so  red  wine 
was  poured,  and  all  raised  a  most  cordial  "Vive 
FAngleterre  !  "  with  great  enthusiasm  and  clinking 
of  glasses,  to  which  we  responded  with  "  Viva 
l'ltalia  !  "  which  seemed  to  please  them.  Then  an 
old  priest  said,  "  Mesdemoiselles,  etes-vous  catho- 
liques  ?  Viva  Roma,"  to  which  I  replied  in  Ital- 
ian, "We  can  at  least  say,  Viva  Roma  capitale 
&  Italia!"  which  response  he  quite  understood 
and  said,  "Ah  well,  ah  well!  viva  Christianity!" 
to  which  we  of  course  responded  con  amove.  Then 
two  or  three  more,  probably  freethinkers  I  am 
afraid,  said,  "  Oui  bicn,  but  no  more  popery,"  and 


180  SIVISS   LETTERS. 

other  similar  exclamations,  at  which  we  were  very 
much  astonished  as  at  least  three  priests  were  in 
the  party.  Then  we  were  allowed  to  depart  with 
no  end  of  hat  wavings  and  good  wishes.  It  was 
such  a  curious  little  episode,  occurring  too  at  such 
a  superb  spot,  and  close  to  the  cross  which  marks 
the  boundary  and  bears  on  one  side  "France"  and 
on  the  other  "Italia." 

We  reached  Chapiu  at  two,  and  we  hoped  it 
might  be  possible  to  put  on  steam  and  get  over 
the  Col  de  Bonhomme  this  afternoon,  but  we 
found  it  could  not  be  done  before  dark,  so  we 
were  obliged  to  give  it  up  and  stay  over  Sunday 
at  this  funny  little  lonely  inn. 

It  has  been  a  glorious  day,  almost  too  clear,  as 
it  rather  takes  from  the  sublimity,  the  summits 
looking  so  near.  We  passed  the  Lac  de  Combat, 
an  exquisitely  soft  tinted  lake,  pearly  blue,  but  less 
intense  than  Geneva,  reflecting  a  grand  and  lovely 
group- of  snow  summits  and  ridges,  more  like  a 
fairy  fancy  than  a  reality  in  its  unique  loveliness. 

That  lake  was  red  in  Napoleon's  days,  and  a 
wretched  garrison  was  kept  freezing  there  four 
whole  winters,  guarding  the  pass  at  the  boundary. 
The  ruins  of  their  rough  fortifications  are  reflected 
in  one  corner,  a  melancholy  contrast. 

The  col  is  8,450  feet  high,  but  the  ascent  was 
unusually  gradual,  and  we  were  as  fresh  when  we 


LETTERS    IN  1 87 1.  181 

got  to  the  top  as  when  we  started.  But  then  we 
nad  ignominiously  descended  to  having  a  mule 
between  us,  so  it  was  only  two  hours  and  a  half 
walking  for  each. 

LETTER   IX. 

Hotel  Gibbon,  Lausanne.     Thursday,  Aug.  3. 

I  actually  have  had  no  one  half  hour  to  begin 
this  conclusion  of  my  reports,  for,  in  spite  of  all 
my  resolutions,  we  have  had  three  tremendous 
days.  How  was  a  mortal  to  resist  doing  all  one 
could  at  Chamouni  ? 

Sunday  at  Chapiu  we  turned  out  for  a  little  air 
the  first  thing,  came  back  in  the  rain,  and  had  to 
stay  in  the  rest  of  the  day.  We  intended  to  have 
spent  part  of  it  in  Scripture  reading  among  the 
few  scattered  chalets  within  reach,  as  Costabel 
told  us  the  inhabitants  are  mostly  mere  heathen, 
and  not  even  looked  after  by  any  priest. 

Monday  dawned  sulky,  but  not  bad  enough  to 
stay  at  Chapiu,  where  the  bread  was  sour  and  the 
other  viands  pale  and  greasy,  and  we,  having  the 
best  room,  were  accommodated  with  one  deal 
bench  instead  of  any  chairs.  So  we  set  off  before 
sunrise,  in  hope,  and  after  an  hour's  steep  climb 
met  the  clouds,  which  were  relieving  themselves  of 
sleet.    We  soon  got  to  the  highest  chalet  and  took 


1 82  SWISS   LETTERS. 

shelter.  Such  an  interior  !  Fancy  a  good  sized 
barn,  one  half  consisting  of  a  platform  three  steps 
high,  the  other  with  floor  of  bare  earth.  We  were 
civilly  invited  to  ascend  the  steps  and  sit  on  a  box, 
which  we  thankfully  did,  for  we  dared  not  stir  for' 
dirt  and  fleas.  On  this  platform,  which  had  one 
window  a  foot  square,  were  five  beds,  three  of  hay 
on  the  floor,  covered  with  one  filthy  sheet  and  a 
great  brown  coverlet  ditto,  the  other  two  a  sort  of 
boxes  of  hay.  Presently  the  beds  were  made,  and 
the  process  was  simple,  consisting  of  a  shake  and 
poke  to  the  hay,  which  sent  out  a  cloud  of  dust. 
Two  children  were  awoke  and  dressed;  their  toilet, 
performed  by  the  father,  occupying  about  a  minute, 
and  chiefly  consisting  of  putting  on  cap  and  shoes. 
We  watched  the  proceedings  on  the  earthen  floor 
half  of  the  house  with  amusement.  The  inhabit- 
ants all  had  breakfast  in  a  desultory  way,  milk 
and  curds  and  bits  of  black  bread,  supped  out  of 
great  porringers  with  gigantic  spoons.  There  were 
five  men  and  a  woman,  all  occupied  with  the  milk 
and  cheese  business,  and  grouping  themselves 
picturesquely  in  the  light  from  the  door,  and  a 
wood  fire  on  the  ground  made  near  enough  to  a 
hole  in  the  corner  of  the  roof  to  give  the  smoke  a 
chance.  Over  the  fire  a  cauldron,  at  least  four  feet 
in  diameter,  swung  about  by  a  great  creaking  beam, 
a  most  witch-like  affair.     After  nearly  two  hours 


LETTERS   IN   i8y I.  1 83 

the  storm  moderated,  and  the  guide  said  we  could 
go  on. 

When  we  had  done  all  the  worst  of  the  ascent, 
the  rain  having  happily  ceased,  I  suddenly  fell  sick. 
It  was  a  fix,  for  we  were  too  high  either  to  stop 
or  go  back,  and  I  could  not  stir,  but  lay  down  on 
the  wet  stones,  whereat  the  guide  was  frantic. 
"Madame  serait  malade,  if  she  did  not  get  up  and 
walk."  (They  consider  themselves  as  responsible 
for  their  travellers.)  Most  opportunely  E.  descried 
at  some  depth  below  two  gentleman  and  a  mule; 
by  the  time  they  reached  us  I  was  rather  better, 
and  they  were  most  amiable  about  lending  me 
their  animal,  making  out  that  it  was  only  laziness 
to  have  had  one  at  all.  We  continued  the  ascent; 
and,  to  my  amazement,  getting  among  the  snow 
again  so  revived  me  that  when  we  got  as  far  as 
the  mule  could  go  (in  about  an  hour)  I  felt  all 
right.  The  "  traversee,"  as  they  call  it,  of  the 
Col  de  Bonhomme  was  the  wildest  of  wild  scenes, 
cutting  across  the  west  shoulder  of  the  Mont 
Blanc  chain,  all  rocks  and  snow,  most  formless  and 
chaotic,  and  famous  as  being  about  the  most  diffi- 
cult to  find  the  way.  Our  benevolent  friends  had 
a  Zermatt  guide,  who  was  supposed  to  know  it 
well ;  but  they  quite  lost  the  way,  and  were  brought 
back  by  much  racing  and  hallooing  by  the  Chapiu 
man  who  was  with  me  and  the  mule.     A  thick 


1 84  SWISS   LETTERS. 

white  icy  fog  had  come  on  and  made  the  col  very 
characteristic,  but  we  lost  the  grand  views.  We 
came  down  into  the  lovely  valley  of  Contamines 
^and  dined  at  Nant  Borrant,  and  after  an  hour's 
sleep  we  walked  two  hours  more  down  to  Con- 
tamines, which  we  reached  about  5.30.  Such  a 
lovely  place,  luxuriant  and  bright,  with  snow  sum- 
mits closing  the  valley,  and  the  rosy  smile  of  a 
great  white  peak  shining  down  at  sunset  through 
a  cloud  rift. 

Next  morning  was  another  of  the  brilliant  days 
of  which  we  have  had  so  many.  It  is  eighteen 
miles  to  Chamouni,  so  we  took  a  horse  between  us 
for  the  first  six  or  seven  miles,  leaving  less  than 
eleven  to  walk.  The  top  of  the  Col  de  Voza  is 
glorious,  it  is  too  close  under  Mont  Blanc  to  see 
the  real  summit,  but  the  massive  shining  snow  of 
the  Dome  and  Aiguille  du  Goute  are  close  above; 
all  the  other  aiguilles  follow  in  a  grand  curve,  and 
the  fine  sweep  of  the  vale  of  Chamouni  is  nowhere 
seen  to  such  advantage.  The  coloring  was  vivid, 
and  the  atmosphere  keenly  clear.  We  scampered 
down  to  Les  Ouches,  and  then  finished  the  walk 
with  four  miles  and  a  half  of  level  road  to  Cha- 
mouni, which  was  quite  a  rest  after  the  mountain 
work.  Having  got  our  letters  and  looked  about 
Chamouni,  we  took  mules  and  started  up  the 
Breven  !     Not  all  the  way,  as  we  could  not  reach 


LETTERS   IN  187 1.  185 

the  top  before  dark,  but  to  Plampraz,  about  two- 
thirds  of  the  way  up,  a  first-rate  place  for  sunset, 
rather  higher  up  than  La  Flegere,  and  exactly 
opposite  the  great  Glacier  des  Bossons  and  the 
very  heart  of  Mont  Blanc. 

How  we  did  triumph  over  the  people  whom  we 
met  going  down  to  table  d'hote  at  Chamouni,  just 
as  the  grand  show  up  there  was  going  to  begin  ! 
There  had  been  more  than  one  hundred  visitors 
at  Plampraz,  but  all  cleared  down  before  sunset, 
and  we  had  the  little  inn  and  the  sunset  all  to 
ourselves.  It  seemed  too  much  to  have  all  alone; 
how  I  did  want  you  and  all !  That  whole  magni- 
ficent range  close  opposite  to  us  turned  gold,  and 
then  fire  color,  and  then  softened  into  rose,  and 
then  tenderly  paled  away  into  that  most  saintly 
colorless  afterlight,  which  M.  L.  will  remember 
we  agreed  in  admiring  most  of  all.  The  valley 
was  quite  dark  below,  and  the  black  pine  forests 
beneath,  and  the  almost  purple  sky  above,  formed 
a  wonderful  setting  for  all  that  superb  coloring. 

Next  morning,  Wednesday,  we  were  up  just 
in  time  for  a  lovely  clear  sunrise;  but  there  is 
no  expanse  of  coloring  in  the  morning,  as  the 
eastern  tips  are  only  seen  sideways.  The  rose 
flush  was  very  delicate  and  lovely,  but  all  over 
in  ten  minutes.  Then  we  had  coffee,  and  soon 
after    five    started    up    the    Breven,   which    I   did 


1 86  SWISS   LETTERS. 

not  intend  to  do  at  all,  and  meant  to  let  E.  go 
alone;  but  how  could  I  help  it  on  such  a  morn- 
ing !  It  is  much  more  difficult  than  I  expected, 
as  there  are  several  snow  slopes,  and  one  where 
we  should  have  been  glad  of  an  ice  axe  to  cut 
steps;  and  near  the  top  the  "cheminee"  is  quite 
a  hands  and  feet  climb  up  a  rock.  The  view 
from  the  very  summit  is  a  first  class  panorama, 
and  quite  a  different  thing  from  going  only  to 
the  little  inn  which  many  do,  and  call  it  "going 
up  the  Breven."  We  stayed  an  hour  to  take  it 
in,  then  came  down  again  to  Plampraz  and  had 
another  breakfast. 

The  next  move  was  to  march  to  La  Flegere, 
about  five  or  six  miles,  a  more  tiresome  walk 
than  we  expected;  as,  instead  of  being  nearly 
level  along  the  slope,  it  was  rather  sharp  up  and 
down  the  whole  way.  It  was  delightful  to  see 
La  Flegere  again  and  compare  impressions,  as  it 
was  my  first  revised  scene.  It  was  beginning 
to  cloud  over,  and  so  looked  just  the  same  as 
when  we  saw  it  in  1869.  I  do  not  think  the 
Mer  de  Glace  part  of  the  view  lost  anything  by 
comparison  with  all  we  had  seen;  but  the  Mont 
Blanc  part  of  it  is  very  inferior  to  the  Breven  view. 
We  had  only  time  to  rest  twenty  minutes  and 
drink  some  milk,  and  then  set  out  again  by  a  cross 
cut,  which  for  part  of  the  way  was  no  path  at 


LETTERS   IN   l8jl.  1 87 

all,  down  to  Argentiere.  We  had  no  guide,  and 
occasionally  made  a  bad  speculation  and  made 
angles ;  however,  we  reached  the  Couronne, 
where  we  breakfasted  in   1869,  ravenous  ! 

After  dinner  we  took  mules  for  the  Col  de  Balm 
at  4.30,  rather  annoyed  at  being  reduced  to  this 
ignominy,  but  we  had  wearied  ourselves  in  track- 
ing the  way  to  Argentiere,  and  it  was  a  close,  op- 
pressive day.  I  had  before  inquired  for  Joseph 
Devouassoud;  he  was  off  duty  as  guide;  however 
he  got  wind  of  the  inquiry  and  a  description  of 
the  inquirer;  whereby  he  arrived  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  it  was  the  writer  of  the  verses  in  his 
certificate  book,  which  verses  he  seems  to  have 
considerably  traded  upon  !  So  after  dinner  he 
came  in  delighted  and  gushing,  quite  amusing, 
and  got  leave  from  the  guide  chef  to  exchange 
his  turn,  and  so  came  with  us  up  the  Col  de  Balm. 
It  was  cloudy  and  gloomy  when  we  got  up  at 
nearly  seven  o'clock;  we  went  immediately  up 
the  hill  on  the  left,  where  H.  C,  M.  L.,  and  I 
went  to  get  the  panorama.  It  was  really  very 
grand;  though  I  would  rather  have  seen  it  in 
clear  light,  the  sombre  gloom  was  not  a  bad  ef- 
fect, especially  on  the  Tete  Noire  side,  where  the 
gulf  was  almost  black  and  the  mountains  just  aw- 
ful, with  the  white  Buet  like  a  dim  ghost  over- 
looking them.    The  Mont  Blanc  range  was  a  chaos 


1 88  SWISS   LETTERS. 

of  cloud  and  snow.  We  saw  most  where  last  time 
we  saw  least,  i.  e.,  down  Martigny  way;  the  Rhone 
valley  mountains  being  clearer,  and  some  vestiges 
of  sunset  light  on  them.  No  one  else  except  a 
very  fatigued  German  slept  there;  he  had  walked 
from  Chamouni  via  Montanvert,  and  had  quite 
exhausted  himself;  "  It  was  far  too  much  to  at* 
tempt,"  he  said.  We  were  entertained,  for  we 
had  done  considerably  more  in  the  day,  and  were 
quite  lively  after  it  all. 

It  poured  all  night  but  left  off,  after  seven  a.m., 
so  we  prepared  to  start;  our  bill  was  simply  scan- 
dalous. We  decided  to  give  up  the  Eau  Noire 
gorge  route,  and  go  direct  to  Martigny.  The  P. 
S.  G.  calls  it  five  hours  and  a  half,  but  we  scam- 
pered, wishing  to  catch  the  12.30  train,  and  we 
actually  did  it  in  four  hours,  including  five  min- 
utes' stoppage  on  the  Col  de  Trient  for  a  glass  of 
wine  and  water. 

Although  it  poured  furiously  part  of  the  way, 
I  never  was  more  glad  that  we  had  no  water- 
proofs; we  could  not  have  done  it  if  we  had,  and 
if  I  come  predestrianizing  again  I  shall  take  none; 
getting  wet  is  nothing  in  Switzerland,  one  gets 
dry  again  directly.  It  seemed  quite  too  luxuri- 
ous to  get  into  such  good  paths  again  as  the  Col 
de  Balm;  Zermatt,  etc.,  are  half  a  century  behind 
Chamouni  in  this  respect. 


LETTERS   IN  l8?l.  1 89 

It  would  have  been  tantalizing  to  go  by  rail  down 
the  Rhone  valley  if  it  had  been  fine;  but  it  was  all 
colorless  and  cloudy  and  rainy,  so  I  was  grateful 
to  George  Stephenson.  The  lake  of  Geneva  can't 
help  looking  blue  in  any  weather,  but  it  was 
rough  enough  to  make  us  glad  we  had  not  gone 
by  steamer.  Montreux,  etc.,  looked  astonishingly 
tame  after  the  great  scenes  we  have  been  in.  We 
came  on  here  (Lausanne),  as  our  bags  were  to  be 
at  Poste  Restante,  otherwise  it  would  have  been 
nicer  to  go  on  to  Neuchatel.  Even  the  smallest 
modicum  of  baggage  is  sure  to  be  a  nuisance 
first  or  last.  Only  fancy  us  at  Hotel  Gibbon!  the 
first  time  we  have  been  in  one  of  these  Swiss 
palaces  in  this  tour,  and  we  feel  so  out  of  place  ! 
The  first  thing  I  did  on  getting  into  this  grand 
hotel  was  to  tumble  down  full  length  on  the 
polished  gallery  floor,  owing  to  the  nails  in  my 
boots.  I  never  had  a  single  fall  on  ice,  snow,  or 
rock  !  so  it  was  rather  odd. 

Our  evening  coffee  here  under  splendid  chan- 
deliers and  mirrors  and  carving  and  gilding  was 
a  considerable  contrast  to  the  previous  night.  At 
Plampraz,  which  was  lowest  in  the  scale,  we  had 
no  chair  or  table  in  our  bedrooms,  and  the  lim- 
ited washing  apparatus  was  on  a  very  small  shelf 
by  the  bed,  which  was  a  sort  of  wooden  crib. 

On  the  whole  I  set  Courmayeur  as  A  1  of  all, 


190  SWISS   LETTERS. 

and  I  think  Zermatt  second,  and  Chamouni  third. 
But  there  is  no  single  scene  more  unique  and 
characteristic  than  the  Mer  de  Glace  at  Chamouni, 
and  no  panorama  to  compare  with  the  Gorner 
Grat.  Courmayeur  has  far  the  most  variety, 
whether  for  excursions  or  for  strolls,  and  is  quite 
the  place  for  the  longest  stay.  But  Chamouni  is 
the  place  to  begin  with,  to  get  into  training;  Cour- 
mayeur to  improve  upon  it;  and  Zermatt  to  use 
and  tax  all  your  Alpine  powers.  You  can't  think 
what  easy  walks  all  the  Chamouni  excursions 
seem  to  us  now  !  N.B. — I  read  my  letters  over  to 
E.,  so  there  is  a  guarantee  against  exaggeration ! 

Connie  was  the  only  person  who  addressed 
rightly  to  Chamouni;  every  one  else  put  Switzer- 
land, so  causing  delay  and  extra  payment,  as  it  is 
France.  No  one  ever  will  believe  that  Chamouni 
is  not  Switzerland  and  never  was,  but  Savoy,  and 
now  France. 

Monday,  7.30  a.m. — Clapham  Park.  Just  as 
uncomfortable  a  journey  home  as  possible,  a 
small  counterbalance  to  our  previous  prosperity. 
I  can't  stay  for  details,  but  will  write  when  I  get 
to  Perry  Barr.  Horrible  crossing.  Delightful 
Sunday  here,  splendid  !  most  striking  sermons, 
Rev.  Aubrey  Price;  leave  here  8.45.  Could  not 
possibly  post  on  Saturday. 


IV. 

MY  ALPINE   STAFF. 

My  Alpine  staff  recalls  each  shining  height, 
Each  pass  of  grandeur  with  rejoicing  gained, 
Carved  with  a  lengthening  record  self-explained.. 

Of  mountain  memories  sublime  and  bright. 

No  valley  life  but  hath  some  mountain  days, 
Bright  summits  in  the  retrospective  view, 
And  toil-won  passes  to  glad  prospects  new, 

Fair  sunlit  memories  of  joy  and  praise. 

Grave  on  thy  heart  each  past- "red-letter  day"! 
Forget  not  all  the  sunshine  of  the  way 
By  which  the  Lord  hath  led  thee:  answered  prayers 
And  joys  unasked,  strange  blessings,  lifted  cares, 
Grand  promise -echoes !     Thus  thy  life  shall  be 
One  record  of  His  love  and  faithfulness  to  thee. 


V. 

HOLIDAY    WORK. 

I  ONLY  wish  that  all  the  tired  workers  at  home 
would  renew  their  strength  and  spirits  by  such 
holiday  work  abroad  as  lies  within  reach  of  many 
who  fancy  it  far  out  of  their  reach.  I  did  not 
know  till  the  summer  before  last' what  a  combina- 
tion of  keen  enjoyment  and  benefit  to  health,  with 
opportunities  of  usefulness  and  open  doors  innu- 
merable, was  to  be  found  in  a  pedestrian  tour  by 
unprotected  females  !  This,  too,  without  difficulties 
or  discomforts  worth  calling  such,  and  at  a  very 
much  smaller  outlay  than  is  supposed  possible  by 
those  who  travel  in  the  usual  expensive  way,  and 
think  that  going  to  Switzerland  for  six  or  eight 
weeks  means  spending  £50  at  the  least.  Much 
less  than  half  that  sum  will  suffice  for  such  a 
tour  as  ours.  And  lest  it  should  be  thought  that 
exceptional  strength  is  necessary,  I  may  pre- 
mise that  both  my  friend  and  myself  had  been 
thoroughly  overworked,  and  were  obliged  to  seek 
rest;  that  neither  of  us  is  very  strong,  and  that  a 


HOLIDAY   WORK.  193 

walk  of  a  mile  or  two  is  the  extent  of  our  Eng- 
lish powers. 

Of  course  we  chose  the  inexpensive  route,  via 
Newhaven  and  Dieppe  to  Paris,  and  thence  by 
night  train  to  Belfort,  on  the  frontier,  where  we 
arrived  at  nine  a.  m.,  June  29th,  1871.  As  we  had 
slept  pretty  fairly,  having  had  a  carriage  to  our- 
selves by  reason  of  the  guard's  natural  sympathy 
for  unprotected  females,  and  having  been  able  to 
lie  down  full  length  by  reason  of  going  second 
class  instead  of  first,  we  were  not  tired,  and 
intended  to  proceed.  But  the  train  to  Basle  and 
Lucerne  had  just  left.  "  Cest  une  disorganisation 
complete  /"  said  a  fatigued  Frenchman,  and  rightly. 
No  information  whatever  was  to  be  had,  either  at 
Paris  or  at  Belfort  itself,  as  to  trains  beyond,  un- 
less you  got  hold  of  a  German  official.  Moreover, 
every  German  train  was  arranged  to  depart  just 
before  the  corresponding  French  one  got  in,  and 
vice  versa,  apparently  for  the  purpose  of  spite. 
And  so  it  came  to  pass,  as  a  result  of  the  war, 
that  we  had  nearly  six  hours  to  wait. 

When  there  is  no  one  to  wait  and  be  anxious 
for  you,  and  no  one  to  arrange  for  but  your  two 
selves,  and  no  fixed  plan  beyond  to-day,  and  that 
day  and  all  its  hours  committed  to  a  Father's 
guidance,  disappointment  becomes  almost  im- 
possible, and  the  crossing  of  one's  intentions  con- 


194  SWISS   LETTERS. 

stantly  results  in  most  evident  guiding  to  some- 
thing better.  So  it  was  with  our  detention  at 
Belfort,  which  was  no  part  of  our  own  programme. 

We  set  off  through  the  town  to  the  fortifica- 
tions. "  Why  should  we  not  begin  at  once  ?"  said 
my  friend,  E.  Clay.  So,  setting  the  example,  she 
began  offering  French  tracts  and  "portions"  to 
almost  every  one  we  met.  And  a  wonderful  two 
or  three  hours  we  had  !  Such  eagerness  for  the 
little  books,  such  gratitude,  such  attentive  listen- 
ing as  we  tried  to  speak  of  Jesus,  such  tears  as  we 
touched  the  chord  of  suffering,  still  vibrating 
among  these  poor  people,  to  whom  war  had  been 
an  awful  reality  !  Surely  God  sent  us  !  Not  one 
to  whom  we  spoke  but  told  us  of  husbands,  sons 
or  brothers  fallen  in  the  siege  or  elsewhere;  or 
else  of  terrible  losses  and  poverty.  Some  to  whom 
we  gave  tracts  went  away  reading,  and  soon  came 
back  begging  for  another,  "  pour  ma  mere,"  "pour 
un  ami."  We  went  into  a  large  room,  where 
several  wounded  soldiers  lay,  while  women  sat 
at  work;  here  again  all  was  earnest  attention  and 
gratitude.  "  Merci  inftnimcnt,  infiniment  /"  said 
one  poor  fellow. 

At  last  we  made  our  way  up  to  the  fortifications, 
where  probably  none  but  "  unprotected  females  " 
would  have  been  allowed  !  Our  pctits  livres 
secured  us  the  respect  of  the  few  soldiers  and 


HOLIDAY   WORK.  195 

many  workmen.  We  realized  a  little  of  what  war 
means,  as  we  wandered  about  the  half  ruined 
stronghold,  and  looked  down  upon  a  church  with 
scarcely  a  square  yard  of  roof  intact,  and  houses 
in  every  stage  of  shatter  and  desolation,  or,  at 
best,  poorly  patched  up  for  bare  shelter. 

Before  we  left,  a  deputation  came  to  us  from 
a  party  of  workmen  who  had  been  reading  our 
tracts  during  their  dinner,  to  ask  for  a  few  more, 
that  they  might  take  them  to  some  camarades, 
who  were  employed  in  another  part  of  the  town, 
and  who  "would  be  too  happy  to  possess  them." 

As  we  returned  through  the  town  we  found 
many  waylaying  us.  At  one  point  which  they 
knew  we  must  pass,  at  least  thirty  persons  were 
waiting,  and  pressed  round  us,  begging  for  more 
tracts.  We  had  only  a  few  leaflets  left,  with 
"Rock  of  Ages"  in  French  and  German,  and  these 
they  accepted  eagerly.  I  have  since  regretted 
that  it  did  not  occur  to  me  at  the  moment  to 
sing  it. 

We  reached  Lucerne  that  night,  and  next  morn- 
ing steamed  down  the  lake.  It  would  have  been 
contrary  to  our  travelling  principles  to  pay  first- 
class  fare  for  the  privilege  of  sitting  among  the 
unsociable  English,  aft,  with  funnels  and  paddle- 
boxes  right  between  us  and  the  magnificent 
scenery  opening  out  before  us;  so  we  took  second- 


196  SWISS   LETTERS. 

class  tickets,  thereby  securing  for  half-price  a  clear 
front  vie\y,  with  nothing  but  transparent  air  be- 
tween us  and  the  increasing  loveliness  ahead,  and 
also  the  advantage  of  being  among  the  natives, 
who  were  all  politeness  to  the  English  ladies.  We 
thus  had  also  the  benefit  of  some  charming  Swiss 
songs,  sung  by  a  girls'  school  out  for  a  holiday; 
they  lent  us  their  little  song-book  to  follow  the 
music,  and  were  delighted  at  receiving  little  books 
in  return,  which  might  by  His  blessing  put  a  new 
song  in  their  mouths. 

From  Altdorf,  at  the  other  end  of  the  lake,  our 
long  anticipated  real  pedestrian  tour  began.  Our 
plan  was  as  follows.  Our  luggage  consisted  of  a 
small  carpetbag  apiece,  every  inch  and  ounce 
having  been  considered  and  economized,  though 
even  these  were  discovered  on  further  experience 
to  contain  superfluities  !  These  bags  we  sent  on 
each  morning  by  post  or  diligence  if  on  grandes 
routes;  by  baggage  mule,  country  cart,  or  small 
boy,  if  off  the  track:  to  whatever  place  we  thought 
we  could  reach  in  the  day  without  undue  fatigue; 
and  here  we  always  found  them  all  right;  average 
expense,  a  few  pence. 

We  started  at  four  or  five  a.m.  walking  on  till 
we  felt  inclined  to  stop  and  rest;  our  first  halt 
being  given  to  leisurely  reading  and  prayer  in 
some  grand  and  lonely  mountain  oratory;  a  plan 


HOLIDAY   WORK.  1 97 

which  we  found  more  pleasant  and  profitable  than 
devoting  the  whole  time  to  it  indoors  before  start- 
ing. Then  we  strolled  on  again,  halting  or  taking 
refreshment,  just  as  and  when  we  felt  inclined; 
resting  for  several  hours  in  the  heat  of  the  day,  and 
making  another  stage  or  two  in  the  afternoon.  We 
carried  tiny  knapsacks  (bags  are  a  great  mistake, 
being  more  fatiguing  to  carry);  these  held  tracts 
and  "portions,"  a  biscuit  and  a  hard  egg,  and  the 
barest  necessities  in  case  of  missing  our  carpet- 
bags, or  altering  our  plan  for  the  night.  As 
Switzerland  is  the  land  of  hotels  and  travellers, 
such  a  tour  as  ours  is  easier  than  it  would  be  else- 
where; unless  you  are  in  very  out-of-the-way 
places,  you  seldom  go  three  miles  without  some 
opportunity  of  getting  a  meal,  nor  six  without  a 
fair  chance  of  beds. 

We  began  very  gradually;  our  first  walk  was 
only  two  miles,  but  in  a  fortnight  we  found  our- 
selves doing  from  fourteen  to  twenty  miles  in  the 
day  without  getting  tired*!  Our  early  hours  were 
part  of  the  secret;  one  can  do  double  the  distance 
before  seven  a.m.  that  one  can  after;  the  invig- 
orating effect  of  the  crisp  fresh  mountain  air  from 
four  to  seven  a.m.  is  indescribable.  Those  who 
think  eight  a.m.  a  pretty  fair  start  never  know 
what  this  atmospheric  salvolatile  is.  But  you 
cannot  burn  your  candle  at  both  ends,  and  must 


198  SWISS  LETTERS. 

go  to  bed  accordingly.  If  you  resolutely  and 
regularly  retire  at  eight  p.m.,  and  make  no  scruple 
about  taking  a  good  siesta  in  the  heat  of  the  day 
(and  you  may  lie  down  on  the  grass  with  impunity 
in  such  open  air),  it  will  come  quite  natural  to  get 
up  about  3.30  or  4  a.m.  We  felt  sensitive  about 
Dr.  Watts  and  "  wasting  our  hours  in  bed,"  if  we 
were  not  out  of  it  before  5.30  on  Sunday  mornings. 
Oh  the  delicious  freedom  and  sense  of  leisure  of 
those  days!  And  the  veritable  "  renewing  of 
youth,"  in  all  senses,  that  it  brought !  How  we 
spied  grand  points  of  view  from  rocks  above,  and 
(having  no  one  to  consult,  or  to  keep  waiting,  or  to 
fidget  about  us)  stormed  them  with  our  alpenstocks, 
and  scrambled  and  leaped,  and  laughed  and  raced, 
as  if  we  were,  not  girls  again,  but  downright  boys  ! 
How  we  lay  down  on  moss  and  exquisite  ferns, 
and  feasted  our  eyes  on  dazzling  snow  summits 
through  dark,  graceful  pines,  with  intense  blue 
sky  above,  and  the  quiet  music  of  little  torrents 
coming  up  from  the  dell  below,  and  with  the 
"  visible  music"  all  round  us,  in  every  possible 
color-key,  of  those  marvellously  lovely  Alpine 
flowers,  which  people  never  see  who  go  "in  the 
season,"  a  month  or  two  later.  How  entirely  we 
were  rid  of  that  imp,  Hurry,  who  wears  out  our 
lives  in  England!  "No  hurry!"  It  took  us  a 
long  while  to  realize  that  delightful  fact.     And 


HOLIDAY    WORK.  1 99 

how  we  wished  that  a  wish  could  have  transported 
the  whole  Association  of  Female  Workers  and 
Young  Women's  Christian  Association,  whom  we 
left  in  London,  bodily  to  the  spot,  to  share  the 
wonderful  rest  and  enjoyment  which  our  Father 
was  giving  us  !  A  "  holiday  "  most  certainly;  but 
how  about  "work"  ?  So  much  of  that,  that  we 
never  wanted  more  opportunities,  but  only  more 
earnestness  and  faithfulness,  and  courage  and  love, 
to  use  them.  If  space  allowed,  one  would  like  to 
give  each  day  in  order  and  detail,  with  its  pleas- 
ant providences  and  openings.  But  we  can  only 
indicate  briefly  some  of  the  different  kinds  of 
"  opportunity  "  so  thickly  strewn  in  our  path. 

Our  tour  was  entirely  through  Roman  Catholic 
cantons;  its  roughly  sketched  outline  being  this; 
from  Altdorf,  over  the  Furca,  down  the  Rhone 
valley  to  Viesch;  a  detour  to  yEggischhorn  and 
Bel  Alp;  then  to  Zermatt;  over  the  pass  of  St. 
Theodule  into  the  Val  d'Aosta;  Courmayeur; 
over  the  Col  de  Bonhomme  to  Chamouni;  thence 
to  Martigny,  where  we  took  rail  direct  home,  via 
Xeuchatel.  And  all  the  way,  no  Bible,  no  gospel, 
but  souls  walking  in  darkness  all  around!  Will 
not  some  of  our  workers  try  to  go,  and  tell  them 
of  the  True  Light  ? 

At  the  little  inns  where  we  slept,  we  nearly 
always  found  young  waitresses.    A  few  kind  words 


200  SWISS   LETTERS. 

and  smiles  secured  their  absolute  devotion  to  us, 
and  we  were  waited  on  like  duchesses.  (N.B. — 
How  much  nicer  than  going  to  big  hotels,  with 
waiters  flying  about,  to  whom  you  are  merely 
No.  79  or  No.  43  !)  They  have  "  no  time  for  reli- 
gion in  the  summer,"  but  attend  extra  masses  in 
winter  to  atone  for  it.  But  they  find  time  to  listen 
with  surprise  as  you  speak  to  them  of  salvation. 
They  are  afraid  to  die;  " AA,  la  morty  cest  ter- 
rible /"  And  it  is  at  least  something  new  to 
hear  of  a  "  sure  and  certain  hope."  We  speak  to 
them  again  in  the  morning  before  we  go,  and 
sometimes  find  that  they  have  been  lying  awake 
thinking  of  what  had  been  said.  We  give  them  a 
Gospel  of  St.  John,  and  our  own  reading  has  not 
been  less  profitable  because  it  has  not  been  in 
our  own  Bibles,  but  in  this  "portion"  for  poor 
Therese,  marking  as  we  read  such  bright  star- 
texts  as  may  catch  her  eye,  and  guide  her  to  Jesus. 
Here  I  may  say  that  during  our  long  mid-day 
rests  we  made  it  our  special  occupation  to  mark 
the  most  striking  passages  and  texts  in  the 
"portions  "  we  were  going  to  give  away.  These 
were  chiefly  St.  Luke  and  St.  John,  while  to  per- 
sons of  superior  intelligence  and  education  we 
often  gave  Romans,  but  ahvays  marked.  Even 
curiosity  will  induce  people  to  look  attentively 
at  marked  passages. 


HOLIDAY    WORK.  201 

At  Zermatt,  where  we  stayed  five  days  in  the 
clean,  cheap,  and  unpretending-  Hotel  des  Alpes 
(which  we  strongly  recommend),  there  were 
two  maidens,  and  we  agreed  each  to  make 
special  effort  with  one.  Alexandrine  had  evi- 
dently never  thought  about  religion;  but  Marie, 
a  singularly  gentle  and  lovable  girl,  seemed  an  in- 
stance of  "soil  prepared."  She  had  thought  much 
of  death,  and  with  terror;  she  had  tried  to  be 
worthy  of  heaven,  and  had  failed,  and  wondered 
why  she  felt  so  bad  when  she  really  wished  to  be 
good.  She  said  she  knew  that  Jesus  died  for  sin- 
ners, but  had  no  idea  what  good  that  was  to  do 
for  her,  as  of  course  she  must  gain  her  own  sal- 
vation, and  then  He  might  save  her.  She  had 
never  seen  a  Testament,  and  no  one  of  the  many 
English  ladies  whom  she  had  served  had  ever 
spoken  to  her  about  these  things. 

Every  evening  she  contrived  to  come  to  my 
room,  and  we  read  the  German  Testament  and 
prayed  together.  She  listened  eagerly,  and  as  if 
it  were  indeed  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  I  can- 
not say  that  when  we  left  she  was  able  to  rejoice 
in  Christ,  but  I  think  that  she  had,  though  trem- 
blingly, touched  the  hem  of  His  garment;  she 
was  trusting  to  none  other,  and  saw  that  it  must 
be  "Jesus  only,"  and  the  whole  desire  of  her 
heart  seemed  to  be  toward  Him. 


202  SWISS   LETTERS. 

We  often  turned  out  of  the  path  to  go  to  parties 
of  haymakers.  They  invariably  received  our  books 
with  pleasure,  and  their  acknowledgments  were 
most  courteous.  If  we  stayed  to  read  a  few  verses, 
they  never  seemed  to  feel  it  an  interruption.  We 
gave  them  the  book  out  of  which  we  read,  with  a 
leaf  turned  down,  that  they  might  look  again  at 
the  passage.  One  morning  I  sat  down  by  an  old 
woman,  who  was  knitting,  and  watching  goats. 
She  was  an  "  old  maid,"  very  poor  and  full  of 
troubles.  She  often  thought  of  heaven,  she  said, 
and  how  different  it  would  be  there,  and  she 
prayed  that  God  would  show  her  how  to  get  there. 
She  was  sure  she  should  be  happy  if  she  was  where 
the  good  Lord  Jesus  was.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
the  poor  old  creature  had  some  real  love  for  Him, 
and  was  perhaps  a  true  child  of  God,  though  with 
little  light;  so,  acting  on  impulse,  yet.  with  mis- 
giving as  to  its  being  the  right  choice,  I  read  to 
her  very  slowly  most  of  the  8th  of  Romans, 
pointing  with  my  finger  to  every  line  as  she 
looked  over  me,  dwelling  on  and  repeating  the 
most  comforting  words.  I  was  little  prepared 
for  the  effect  of  the  thought,  so  entirely  new  to 
her,  "  no  separation?  She  took  hold  of  it  with  un- 
questioning faith  and  with  wonderful  joy.  "Has 
He  said  that,  that  I  shall  never  be  separated 
from  Him?     Ah,  how  beautiful;  ah,  how  good! 


HOLIDAY   WORK.  203 

I  can  suffer  now,  I  can  die  now!  "  And  the  poor 
wrinkled  old  face  was  positively  radiant.  Her 
tears  of  gratitude,  when,  after  a  long  talk,  I  said 
she  might  keep  the  little  book  which  contained 
such  precious  words,  were  touching  indeed.  At 
my  last  glimpse  of  her  she  was  poring  over  her 
Romans,  heeding  neither  her  goats  nor  her 
knitting. 

Children  were  generally  proud  to  be  taken  no- 
tice of  by  the  " Engldnderinnen"  and  so  were  the 
parents,  if,  on  making  friends  with  a  family  group, 
we  asked  the  little  ones  to  show  us  how  nicely 
they  could  read.  As  they  mostly  read  clearly  and 
well,  this  seemed  to  answer  better  than  our  own 
reading,  for  it  gave  additional  motives  for  atten- 
tion, and  easy  opportunities  for  questions  and 
simple  comments. 

It  is  a  good  plan  to  learn  by  heart  some  of  the 
leading  gospel  texts;  even  a  very  few,  so  learnt, 
prove  valuable  weapons,  and  without  this  one  feels 
comparatively  swordless,  as  one  cannot  give  a 
rough  and  ready  translation  with  the  same  con- 
fidence as  the  exact  words  of  the  French  or  Ger- 
man version.  Sometimes  we  quoted  such  a  text 
where  we  could  have  but  a  minute's  conversation, 
and  if  our  friends  seemed  at  all  struck  with  it,  we 
gave  them  the  portion  containing  it,  telling  them 
that  if  they  would  look  carefully  they  would  find 


204  SWISS    IE  ITERS. 

those  words  in  the  little  book.  We  sometimes,  on 
looking  back,  saw  them  sitting  down  at  once  to 
search  for  it.  "My  word  shall  not  return  unto  Me 
void"  is  a  grand  promise;  and  in  the  faith  of  that 
it  was  a  comfort  to  quote  and  reiterate  short  and 
easily  remembered  texts,  when  our  supply  of 
" portions"  ran  short. 

All  very  well;  but  what  are  those  to  do  who 
speak  little  or  no  French  and  German  ?  "Where 
there's  a  will  there's  a  way,"  and  plenty  of  ways 
too.  You  can  mark  the  "portions"  ;  you  can  offer 
them;  you  can  point  out  passages  and  get  the  per- 
son to  read  it  to  you;  or  you  can  set  the  children 
to  read  for  you;  and  while  that  promise  standeth 
sure,  who  shall  say  that  such  work  shall  be  in  vain  ? 
What  does  it  matter  about  our  words,  if  we  can, 
even  silently,  give  His  words  ? 

We  never  came  upon  ground  trodden  by  any 
other  sower,  except  among  the  guides,  and  we  did 
find  a  few  of  them  who  had  at  least  "heard  of 
these  things."  They  are  intelligent  and  superior 
men,  and  seemed  more  often  ready  and  disposed  to 
converse  seriously  and  freely  on  important  subjects 
than  any  class  of  men  there  or  elsewhere. 

At  Bel  Alp,  a  mountain  pension  about  seven 
thousand  feet  high,  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  in  the 
darkest  canton,  we  engaged  a  guide  for  the  ascent 
of  the  Sparrenhorn,  which  is  nearly  ten  thousand 


HOLIDAY   WORK.  205 

feet  high.  (Unless  going  above  snow  level,  or 
crossing  a  glacier,  we  never  required  Swiss  guides 
A  tolerable  map  and  the  " Practical  Swiss  Guide' 
were  enough  for  all  other  routes.) 

We  started  at  3.45  a.m.,  and  from  the  stillness  of 
the  hill  side  overlooking  the  great  Aletsch  glacier 
watched  an  Alpine  dawn.  In  the  east  was  a  calm 
glory  of  expectant  light,  as  if  something  altogether 
celestial  must  come  next,  instead  of  a  common 
sunrise.  In  the  south  and  west,  "clear  as  crystal" 
stood  the  grandest  mountains,  white  and  saintly, 
as  if  they  might  be  waiting  for  the  resurrection, 
with  the  moon  shining  in  paleing  radiance  over 
them,  and  the  deep  Rhone  valley,  dark  and  grave- 
like, below.  Suddenly  the  first  roseflush  touched 
the  Mischabel,  then  Monte  Leone  was  transfigured 
by  that  wonderful  rose-fire,  delicate  yet  intense. 
When  the  Weisshorn  came  to  life  (most  beautiful 
of  all,  more  perfectly  lovely  than  any  earthly  thing 
I  ever  yet  saw)  the  Matterhorn  caught  the  same 
resurrection  light  on  its  dark  and  evil-looking  rock 
peak.  It  was  like  a  volcano,  lurid  and  awful,  and 
gave  the  impression  of  a  fallen  angel,  impotently 
wrathful,  shrinking  away  from  the  serene  glory  of 
a  holy  angel,  which  that  of  the  Weisshorn  at  dawn 
might  represent,  if  any  material  thing  could.  The 
eastern  ridges  were  almost  jet,  with  just  a  tinge 
of  purple,  in  front  of  the  great  golden  glow  into 


2o6  SWISS   LETTERS. 

which  the  " daffodil  sky"  rapidly  heightened,  till 
the  sun  rose,  and  the  great  dawn  splendor  was 
over.  Would  you  not  like  to  go  and  see  such  a 
sight  ? 

During  this  excursion  I  had  several  little  talks 
with  our  guide,  Anton.  In  response  to  a  remark, 
he  quoted  a  verse  from  Hebrews  to  my  surprise. 
He  explained  this  by  telling  us  that  four  years  ago 
an  English  lady  had  spoken  to  him  about  his  soul, 
and  on  her  return  to  England  had  sent  him  a  New 
Testament.  This  he  had  read  daily.  He  had  no 
other  help,  but  found  in  it  that  he  might  pray  for 
the  teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  from  that 
time  had  constantly  done  so.  He  had  learnt  from 
it  the  need  of  a  mediator,  and  that  there  is  but  one 
Mediator,  and  now  prayed  no  longer  to  the  Virgin 
or  the  saints,  but  only  to  and  through  the  Saviour. 
He  had  no  doubt  but  it  was  God's  own  word, 
because  he  felt  its  power  and  preciousness.  "  Life 
was  a  different  thing  to  him  now,"  he  said,  and  it 
was  evidently  a  life  of  faith  on  the  Son  of  God. 
Possibly  this  may  meet  the  eye  of  the  faithful 
sower  who  dropped  the  incorruptible  seed  which 
has  borne  such  "fruit  unto  life  eternal." 

What  if  but  one  of  the  words  spoken  or  books 
given  during  a  whole  tour  should  be  thus  blessed ! 
Would  it  not  be  worth  all  the  effort,  and  the 
screwing  up  of  courage,  and  the  battles  with  shy- 


HOLIDAY   WORK.  207 

ness  and  nervousness  and  reluctance,  which  have 
to  be  fought  again  and  again  ? 

Ye  who  hear  the  blessed  call 

Of  the  Spirit  and  the  Bride; 
Hear  the  Master's  word  to  all, 

Your  commission  and  your  guide: 
"And  let  him  that  heareth  say, 
Come,''  to  all  yet  far  away. 

Brothers,  sisters,  do  not  wait, 

Speak  for  Him  who  speaks  to  you ! 

Wherefore  should  you  hesitate  ? 
This  is  no  great  thing  to  do. 

Jesus  only  bids  you  say, 

"Come!"  and  will  you  not  obey? 


VI. 

AN  ALPINE   CLIMBER. 

Ho!  for  the  Alps!     The  weary  plains  of  France, 
And  the  night-shadows  leaving  far  behind, 
For  pearl  horizons  with  pure  summits  lined, 
On  through  the  Jura-gorge,  in  swift  advance 
Speeds  Arthur,  with  keen  hope  and  buoyant  glee, 
On  to  the  mountain  land,  home  of  the  strong  and  free  ! 

On  !  to  the  morning  flush  of  gold  and  rose; 

On !  to  the  torrent  and  the  hoary  pine ; 

On!  to  the  stillness  of  life's  utmost  line; 

On !  to  the  crimson  fire  of  sunset  snows. 

Short  star-lit  rest,  then  with  the  dawn's  first  streak, 

On !  to  the  silent  crown  of  some  lone  icy  peak. 

'Twas  no  nerve-straining  effort  then,  for  him 
To  emulate  the  chamois-hunter's  leap 
Across  the  wide  rock -chasm,  or  the  deep 
And  darkly  blue  crevasse  with  treacherous  rim, 
Or  climb  the  sharp  arete,  or  slope  of  snow; 
With  Titan  towers  above  and  cloud-filled  gulfs  below. 

It  was  no  weariness  or  toil  to  count 

Hour  after  hour  in  that  weird  white  realm, 
With  guide  of  Alp-renown  to  touch  the  helm 
Of  practised  instinct;  rocky  spires  to  mount, 
Or  track  the  steepest  glacier's  fissured  length, 
In  the  abounding  joy  of  his  unconquered  strength. 


AN  ALPINE    CLIMBER.  209 

But  it  was  gladness  none  can  realize 

Who  have  not  felt  the  wild  Excelsior-thrill, 
The  strange  exhilarate  energies,   that  fill 
The  bounding  pulses,  as  the  intenser  skies 
Embrace  the  infinite  whiteness,  clear  and  fair, 
Inhaling  vigorous  life  with  that  quick  crystal  air. 

That  Alpine  witchery  still  onward  lures 
Upward,  still  upward,  till  the  fatal  list 
Grows  longer  of  the  early  mourned  and  missed' 
Leading  where  surest  foot  no  more  ensures 
The  life  that  is  not  ours  to  throw  away 
For  the  exciting  joys  of  one  brief  summer  day. 

For  there  are  sudden  dangers  none  foreknow; 
The  scarlet-threaded  rope  can  never  mock 
The  sound-loosed  avalanche,  frost-cloven  rock, 
Or  whirling  storm  of  paralyzing  snow. 
But  Arthur's  foot  was  kept;  no  deathward  slips 
Darkened  the  zenith  of  his  strength  with  dire  eclipse. 

So  year  by  year,  as  his  rich  manhood  filled, 
He  revelled  in  health-giving  mountain  feats; 
Spuming  the  trodden  tracks  and  curious  streets, 
As  fit  for  old  men,  and  for  boys  unskilled 
In  Alpine  arts,  not  strong  nor  bold  enough 
To  battle  with  the  blast  and  scale  the  granite  bluff. 

One  glowing  August  sun  went  forth  in  might, 
And  smote  with  rosy  sword  each  snowy  brow, 
Bright  accolade  of  grandeur !     Now,  oh  now, 
Amid  that  dazzling  wealth  of  purest  light, 
His  long  ambition  should  be  crowned  at  last, 
And  every  former  goal  rejoicingly  o'erpast. 


210  SWISS   LETTERS. 

For  ere  the  white  fields  softened  in  the  glow, 
He  stood  upon  a  long-wooed  virgin-peak, 
One  of  the  few  fair  prizes  left  to  seek; 
Each  rival  pinnacle  left  far  below ! 
He  stood  in  triumph  on  the  conquered  height: 
And  yet  a  shadow  fell  upon  his  first  delight. 

For  well  he  knew  that  he  had  surely  done 
His  utmost;  and  that  never  summer  day 
Could  bring  a  moment  on  its  radiant  way 
Like  the  first  freshness  of  that  conquest,  won 
Where  all  had  lost  before.     A  sudden  tear 
Veiled  all  the  glorious  view,  so  grand,  so  calm,  so  clear! 


VII. 

LETTERS    TO   MRS.    HAVERGAL, 

OF  PYRMONT  VILLA,  LEAMINGTON,   IN  1873. 


No.  I. 

Grand  Hotel,  Paris,  Room  No.  446. 
May  30,  1873.     7  a.m. 

THUS  far  all  safe  and  well;  but  I  must  begin  at  the 
beginning,  for  the  sake  of  M.  and  E.,  who  will  like 
details.  We  started  May  28,  in  the  morning,  went 
to  the  Lord  Warden  at  Dover,  and  crossed  to 
Calais  by  the  9.35  boat.  Un  beau  ciel  enough, 
brilliant  sun;  but,  alas!  no  enjoyment  of  it,  as 
we  were  all  ill. 

The  gangway  on  to  the  steamer  happened  to  be 
pitched  unusually  steeply,  so  that  it  was  quite  an 
interesting  speculation  to  Amy  and  me,  whether 
Mrs.  S.  would  come  down  or  stay  in  England  ! 
and  the  steamer  was  tossing  about  very  horribly; 
but  E.  did  not  hesitate  an  instant  when  her  papa 
told  her  to  go  down  it  with  his  hand.  When 
we  got  nearly  to  Calais,  and  Mrs.  S.,  Ann,  and 


212  SWISS   LETTERS. 

I  were  not  sufficiently  recovered  to  stir,  poor  E., 
who  looked  just  like  a  little  white  ghost,  and 
could  really  hardly  stand  herself,  would  insist  on 
trying  to  get  to  each  of  us  with  eau-de-Colonge; 
it  was  so  pretty  to  see  her.  Ann  is  very  sensible, 
and  takes  any  little  inconvenience  more  philo- 
sophically than  I  ever  expected  a  maid  to  do. 
I  had  an  interesting  talk  with  a  young  railway 
official,  who  came  some  distance  in  our  carriage, 
getting  in  with  cap  off  and  "Pardon,  mes dames  /" 
(I  do  so  like  this  foreign  politeness.)  He  was  in 
Paris  during  most  of  the  siege,  and  was  "very 
hungry,"  and  "  souffrait  affreusement "  ;  at  last 
owing  to  his  railway  position  he  had  a  sudden 
chance  of  getting  out,  which  he  only  did  that  his 
mother  and  sister  might  have  his  share  of  rations; 
then  when  the  armistice  came  he  got  into  Paris  by 
the  very  first  train  with  bread  and  meat  for  the 
"mere  et  sceur"  and  found  them  both  so  famished 
that  they  could  not  eat  it !  and  it  was  weeks  before 
his  mother  could  digest  a  bit  of  meat,  merely  from 
the  derangement  of  starvation.  He  thinks  this 
generation  won't  want  to  go  to  war  again  !  I  asked 
him  what  he  thought  of  the  death  of  Napoleon.  "  It 
was  the  justice  of  God,"  he  said.  "  Do  you  think 
the  Prince  Imperial  will  ever  succeed  ?  "  "  Not 
just  yet,  but  events  move  in  a  circle,  and  his  turn 
may  come."     He  was  very  bitter  about  the  war, 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 3-  213 

saying-,  "And  to  think  that  we  are  all  Christians, 
the  French  and  the  Germans  ! "  This  gave  open- 
ing for  a  little  further  talk  and  a  Gospel  of  St. 
John.  He  seemed  extremely  interested  in  watch- 
ing me  mark  a  number  of  passages  before  giving 
it  to  him. 

Ceci  met  us  at  Paris;  she  has  found  nice  ac- 
commodation for  Amy  in  the  house  of  a  French 
pasteur,  who  is  to  give  her  lessons;  it  is  near  the 
Paumiers.  This  hotel,  the  "Grand,"  is  supposed 
to  be  the  finest  in  Europe;  it  is  quite  full,  so  we 
had  to  go  "an  quatrieine."  However  we  go  up 
and  down  in  a  lift,  and  we  have  rooms  with 
balconies,  looking  down  into  a  fine  boulevard, 
and  so  high  up  that  we  see  over  most  of  the 
roofs,  and  get  less  noise  and  dust.  The  inner 
court  of  the  hotel  is  almost  like  an  immense 
conservatory,  tree  rhododendrons  in  full  flower 
and  other  things;  the  saloons  are  gorgeous,  with 
enormous  crystal  chandeliers  and  mirror  panels, 
so  arranged  as  to  make  the  place  look  intermin- 
able, quite  a  fairyland  by  gaslight. 


Hotel  Bellevue,  Neuchatel.     Saturday  Evening. 

We  could  not  start  till  twelve,  and  then  went  a 
drive  round  Paris,  which  looks  its  very  best  in 
spring  foliage  and  costumes !    We  went  over  Notre 


214  SWISS   LETTERS. 

Dame  with  a  Napoleonist  guide,  who  lost  no  pos- 
sible opportunity  of  instilling  Napoleonic  ideas. 
"This  is  the  altar  where  the  Emperor  was  crowned, 
on  the  same  spot  the  Prince  Imperial  was  baptized, 
and  here  also  he  will  probably  be  crowned  !  "  We 
eschewed  pictures,  etc.,  because  a  general  idea  of 
Paris  was  the  thing  wanted.  After  dinner,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  S.  and  Amy  went  another  two  hours'  drive  to 
the  Champs  Elysees  and  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
while  Ceci  and  I  went  a  walk  in  the  Tuileries 
gardens. 

Then  comes  an  adventure !  Express  for  Neu- 
chatel  left  at  eight  p.m.,  and  as  it  is  a  long  way 
to  the  station  and  luggage  had  to  be  registered 
we  ought  to  leave  at  seven,  and  the  omnibus 
was  ordered,  but  it  never  came  till  half-past 
seven,  and  then  we  had  to  tear  like  fire  engines, 
and  got  to  the  station  just  as  the  doors  were 
closing.  Mr.  S.  undertook  the  live  stock,  and  I 
the  baggage.  "  Too  late,  too  late  !  "  raved  four  or 
five  porters.  However,  by  dint  of  most  vehement 
pleading  and  a  little  bribery,  I  got  it  taken  in  and 
registered,  while  as  I  was  obliged  to  have  the 
tickets  to  show  for  this  Mr.  S.  had  a  tremendous 
row  with  the  platform  officials  because  he  had 
not  the  tickets  to  show.  Finally,  they  wanted  to 
bundle  Mrs.  S.  and  E.  in,  and  the  train  was 
actually  starting  when  E.  came  to  the  rescue  by 


LETTERS   IN  1873.  21$ 

setting  up  such  a  howl  of  "  I  won't  get  in  with- 
out papa;  you  shan't  touch  me  !  "  and  such  floods 
of  tears,  that  she  actually  moved  the  stationmas- 
ter  to  compassion,  and  he  signalled  the  driver  to 
stop  a  minute.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  S.  by  main  force 
held  the  door  of  the  platform  on  one  side,  while 
an  official  struggled  to  close  it  on  the  other. 
Happily  for  me  English  muscle  beat  the  French, 
and  as  I  ran  with  my  very  utmost  speed  I  got  in- 
side, Mr.  S.  loosed  hold,  and  the  door  closed  with 
such  a  slam  behind  me  !  Then  we  tumbled  over 
each  other  into  the  carriage,  and  off  for  Neu- 
chatel  (at  least  so  I  supposed;  the  officials  had 
told  us  we  were  all  right  without  change  till  9.40 
next  morning.) 

For  the  first  hour  a  young  man  sat  by  me,  who 
turned  out  to  be  "  ancienne  noblesse,"  son  of  a 
due,  a  vehement  legitimist,  and  apparently  a 
leader  among  thirty  thousand  young  men  who 
"have  inscribed  themselves"  on  that  side.  He 
had  just  been  laid  up  for  a  month  through  being 
wounded  in  a  duel,  a  sword  wound;  and  told  me 
without  the  least  compunction  that  his  adversary 
had  got  the  worst  of  it,  and  would  not  be  able  to 
walk  for  two  or  three  years  !  Yet  he  was  "  bon 
Chretien,"  and  always  kept  Fridays  and  other  fast 
days !  !  I  felt  so  sorry  for  him,  for  he  was  a  fine 
intelligent  fellow,   but  did   not   seem  to  have  a 


2l6  SWISS    LETTERS. 

glimmering  of  right  and  wrong  !  He  turned  out 
somewhere  about  Fontainebleau,  and  then  we 
settled  for  the  night  (carriage  to  ourselves).  E. 
proposed  having  prayers,  so  Mr.  S.  read  a  psalm 
and  prayed.  About  3.45  a.m.,  I  roused  up  and 
thought  somehow  the  country  looked  wrong  (it 
was  quite  light),  so  I  sat  up  in  some  anxiety  for 
the  next  station.  It  came:  Chalons-sur-Saone  ! 
on  the  line  to  Lyons  and  Marseilles  !  So  I  called 
to  the  stationmaster  to  know  what  was  to  be  done; 
our  party  were  all  asleep,  and  rather  astonished 
to  be  summarily  bundled  out.  On  went  the  train, 
and  imagine  the  Snepps  and  I  standing  in  a  small 
French  station  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
some  fifty  miles  out  of  our  route  !  Happily  it  was 
superb  weather. 

I  soon  made  out  what  we  could  do,  and  it  was 
a  special  providence  that  we  roused  when  we  did, 
for,  like  old  Tiffs  harness,  it  "  broke  in  a  'straw'- 
nary  good  place  dis  yer  time  !  "  and  by  omnibus- 
ing  across  the  town  we  just  caught  a  train  to 
Dole,  a  small  town  on  the  Neuchatel  line.  Then 
we  proceeded  across  country  for  three  hours  in 
that  serene  leisurely  way  peculiar  to  continental 
trains,  which  might  allow  of  the  guard  shaking 
hands  with  his  friends  along  the  road.  As  we  all 
went  to  sleep  it  did  not  signify.  At  7.30  we 
turned  out  at  Dole  for  ablutions  and  food. 


LETTERS    IN   iS/J.  217 

Now  just  imagine  Mrs.  Snepp,  etc.,  washing  in 
large  brown  crocks,  with  unbleached  towels,  in 
the  back  room  of  a  small  French  restaurant,  the 
extempore  washing  apparatus  on  one  table,  and 
basins  of  coffee  with  tablespoons  on  the  other 
(just  like  Belfort).  However  all  was  perfectly 
clean,  and  everybody  was  amused  and  liked  the 
novelty.  We  had  to  change  again  at  Pontarlier, 
and  then  a  glorious  two  hours  through  the  Jura 
gorge  which  I  never  appreciated  before,  because 
I  was  going  away  instead  of  coming.  Mr.  S.  is 
delightful  to  travel  with,  he  is  so  enthusiastic 
about  the  scenery;  he  regularly  shouted  when  we 
came  in  sight  of  the  snow  mountains  ! 

We  got  to  Neuchatel  at  three,  after  eighteen 
hours'  journey.  E.  is  extraordinary;  she  has  not 
flagged  one  bit  yet,  sleeps  like  a  top,  and  is  in 
first-rate  spirits  whenever  awake,  and  not  the  least 
trouble,  and  seems  to  have  left  all  her  timidity 
behind  her  in  England. 

We  are  at  the  Hotel  Bellevue  here,  where  we 
were  in  1869;  one  of  the  very  choice  Swiss  hotels, 
quiet  and  elegant,  on  the  edge  of  the  lake.  It  is 
splendid  weather,  and  Mont  Blanc  is  perfectly 
visible,  and  last  night  (Sunday)  was  rosy  in  the 
sunset. 

There  are  very  few  people  yet,  but  Mr.  S.  finds 
work  enough   nevertheless;    he   had   some   most 


218  SWISS   LETTERS. 

serious  conversations  yesterday,  and  seems  to 
have  made  a  wonderful  impression  on  a  Welsh- 
man, an  M.P.  and  a  dissenter.  He  seems  so 
grateful  for  Mr.  S.'s  talk,  and  is  quite  staggered 
in  his  anti-Bible  education  views. 

They  went  to  English  service  in  the  morning, 
and  I  went  to  French  service,  and  dropped  in  for 
a  confirmation  of  about  ninety  girls,  all  dressed  in 
black  with  white  caps  and  white  folded  handker- 
chiefs over  them.  Pasteur  Nagles  preached,  and 
it  was  quite  different  to  any  foreign  sermon  I  ever 
heard,  "  Lovest  thou  Me!"  A  most  touching, 
personal,  spiritual  sermon,  not  at  all  the  usual 
oration  style,  but  simple  and  powerful  and  full  of 
scriptural  thought. 

Late  in  the  evening  Mrs.  S.  and  I  went  to  try 
and  find  Madame  Mercier,  the  Swiss  representa- 
tive of  the  Young  Women's  Christian  Association, 
but  she  is  gone  away. 

I  routed  Mr.  and  Mrs.  S.  up  at  four  o'clock  this 
morning  to  look  at  the  dawn  on  the  Alps  from 
their  balcony;  it  was  very  lovely,  but  not  the 
"real  thing,"  too  distant  for  the  grand  effects. 
However  we  contemplated  it  for  nearly  half  an 
hour,  and  then  went  to  roost  again. 


LETTERS   IN  1873.  2I9 

No.  II 
Pension  Schweizerhaus,  Lucerne.     June  3. 

I  left  off  at  Neuchatel,  Monday.  Well,  we  had 
views  which  I  never  before  believed  in,  of  the 
distant  Alps,  all  the  way  by  train  along  the  lakes 
of  Neuchatel  and  Bienne,  and  down  the  line  to 
Berne. 

We  lunched  at  the  Bernerhof,  which  M.  will 
remember  in  1869,  and  then  I  unmercifully 
dragged  the  whole  party  up  one  hundred  and 
twenty-seven  steps  to  the  roof.  It  was  so  clear 
that  it  was  difficult  to  realize  the  Jungfrau  as  more 
than  ten  or  twelve  miles  off,  though  it  was  actually 
forty-five  as  the  crow  flies,  and  seventy-five  by 
road  !  I  believe  Emily  would  wish  to  go  up  Mont 
Blanc  at  once  if  we  proposed  it.  It  is  most  amus- 
ing how  she  enters  into  the  spirit  of  the  whole 
thing,  is  quite  certain  she  should  be  neither  tired 
nor  frightened  to  go  anywhere,  and  is  quite  grand 
in  her  responsibility  for  a  share  of  the  small 
packages,  generally  marching  in  front  with  me, 
with  as  much  as  she  can  carry. 

To  return  to  Berne,  we  took  a  carriage  and  drove 
about.  Saw  the  bears  and  fed  them,  all  correct; 
waited  for  the  big  clock  with  its  performances  of 
cocks  and  bears  and  men  with  drums  to  strike  the 
hour;  and  went  into  the  cathedral.     E.  was  very 


2  20  SWISS   LETTERS. 

decided  in  her  Protestant  preference  of  it  to  Notre 
Dame  at  Paris,  which  she  did  not  appear  to  feel 
quite  safe  in  ! 

After  a  superb  sunset  we  got  to  Lucerne  at  eight. 
I  had  written  for  rooms  to  the  Schweizerhaus,  a 
pension  strongly  recommended  in  the  guidebooks, 
so  the  host  was  at  the  station  to  meet  us.  I  advise 
any  one  staying  more  than  a  day  at  Lucerne  to  try 
this  instead  of  the  noisy  and  dusty  town  hotels 
on  the  quay.  Fancy  a  house  about  two  hundred 
feet  above  the  lake  (ten  minutes'  walk  from  the 
steamboats),  looking  down  over  everything,  with 
no  break  to  the  lovely  view  of  lake  and  mountains, 
Pilatus  right,  Rigi  left,  and  the  snowy  Titlis  range 
in  the  centre;  the  foreground  trees,  etc.,  down  to 
the  lake;  a  small  but  pretty  garden,  a  verandah 
with  flower-stands  and  a  balcony  the  same  width 
over  it,  upon  which  all  our  rooms  open. 

Mrs.  S.  rather  needed  a  quiet  morning,  so  she 
very  goodnaturedly  wished  Mr.  S.  and  me  to 
"improve  the  shining  hours"  in  some  way.  Un- 
fortunately Pilatus  is  still  snowed  up,  so  we  con- 
tented ourselves  with  the  Rigi,  and  started  by  the 
8  a.m.  boat  to  Vitznau  to  go  up  by  rail  !  The 
sensation  and  general  effect  are  most  peculiar.  The 
"train"  consisted  of  a  single  carriage,  holding 
about  fifty,  with  glass  at  the  two  ends,  but  open  all 
down  the  sides  where  windows  should  be.    Across 


LETTERS   IN   iS/J.  221 

this  are  rows  of  garden  seats,  bass  instead  of  solid 
wood,  all  facing  backwards  so  that  you  all  look 
downhill  as  you  are  being  pushed  uphill,  and  look 
uphill  as  you  come  downhill.  The  engine  comes 
out  of  a  den  of  a  shed,  and  is  hooked  on  behind, 
pushing,  not  drawing.  Such  an  imp  it  looks,  the 
drollest  and  most  knowing  thing  you  ever  saw  in 
the  shape  of  machinery,  with  its  little  boiler  stuck 
up  on  end,  and  slanting  forward  like  the  tower  of 
Pisa,  bunting  and  pushing  in  a  most  comical  way, 
as  if  it  were  bending  to  the  strain,  with  a  deter- 
mined shoulder  to  the  wheel.  Underneath  are  the 
massive  cogged  wheels  in  the  middle,  on  which  the 
whole  affair  depends,  locking  into  a  great  toothed 
rail  between  the  two  ordinary  rails.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  help  laughing  at  the  little  fellow,  as  after 
a.  very  small  squeal  or  two  off  he  goes.  But  one 
soon  learns  to  respect  him  !  The  first  fifty  yards 
are  a  gentle  incline,  and  then  comes  the  first 
gradient,  which  produces  what  is  mildly  described 
as  "sensation!"  All  at  once  the  carriage  seems 
as  if  it  were  going  to  be  tilted  up  on  end,  and  the 
people  see  over  each  other's  heads  just  like  an 
infant  school  gallery,  and  as  we  "back"  uphill, 
those  must  be  stolid  indeed  who  can  refrain  from 
some  sort  of  noise  in  expression  of  astonishment. 
I  don't  think  I  ever  was  more  surprised.  I  ex- 
'pected  some  sort  of  gradual  zigzag,  a  steep  incline 


2  22  SWISS   LETTERS. 

of  course,  but  nothing  beyond  a  carriage  road;  but 
this  thing  goes  perfectly  straight  up  a  hill  steeper 
than  any  I  ever  saw  a  wheeled  carriage  attempt, 
even  the  Lynton  coaches.  When  you  come  to  a 
station  it  is  quite  queer  to  feel  the  carriage  go 
level  again,  with  an  odd  little  bump  as  the  cog 
locks.  The  views  as  you  rise  are  glorious.  The 
rail  is  only  open  to  Staffelhohe,  nearly  an  hour's 
walk  from  the  top,  and  navvies  are  at  work  on 
the  rest.  I  never  was  more  sorry  for  not  having 
brought  more  spiritual  ammunition,  for  though 
I  had  tracts  and  " portions"  for  about  forty,  it 
was  nothing  like  enough,  and  all  would  have  ac- 
cepted them  had  I  had  more. 

The  upper  part  of  the  Rigi  was  rather  snowy, 
and  somehow  there  is  not  the  same  pleasure  in 
getting  one's  feet  wet  in  commonplace  snow  that 
ought  to  be  all  gone  by  this  time,  as  in  the  real 
thing  above  eternal  snow  level.  It  was  very  calm 
and  bright  and  clear,  but  I  never  can  see  that  pan- 
oramic views  are  so  really  beautiful  as  many  others. 
Half  way  up,  the  view  is  nearly  always  the  best. 
There  is  a  piano  in  the  inn  at  the  top,  so  Mr. 
S.  must  needs  have  a  hymn  from  "  Songs  of 
Grace  and  Glory,"  and  a  "  Havergal  Psalmody" 
tune,  on  it,  at  5,900  feet  high. 

We  only  stayed  about  an  hour  and  then  came 
down  by  the  Weggis  path,  which  we  did  in  a  dense 


LETTERS   IN  1873.  223 

fog  in  1869.  Near  the  top  the  gentians,  large 
and  small,  were  in  full  beauty,  and  often  on  the 
very  edge  of  snow  patches. 

The  weather  has  quite  suddenly  cleared  up.  It 
was  bitterly  cold  at  Lucerne  last  week,  and  it 
snowed  on  the  Rigi  on  Saturday,  so  that  on  Sun- 
day morning  there  were  three  feet  of  snow !  and 
on  Tuesday  gentians  and  positive  heat !  Just  be- 
low the  top  we  turned  out  of  the  path  on  to  a 
lovely  green  plateau  where  the  view  is  magnifi- 
cent; and  here  we  knelt  on  the  very  gentians, 
and  Mr.  S.  prayed,  or  rather  adored.  It  was  so 
nice.  It  was  a  pretty  fair  first  walk,  being  a  spin 
of  nine  miles  down,  not  reckoning  the  hour's  walk 
up;  but  I  hardly  know  anything  lovelier  in  Switz- 
erland, which  is  saying  a  good  deal. 

We  went  out  for  a  nice  drive  in  the  evening 
with  Mrs.  S.  and  E.,  and  saw  the  Lion,  and 
drove  up  to  the  Pension  Wallis,  where  the  Queen 
stayed  some  days,  a  quiet,  unpretending  house, 
quite  five  hundred  feet  above  the  lake. 

Wednesday. — This  morning  we  all  set  off  by  the 
8  a.m.  boat  down  the  lake.  For  the  benefit  of 
those  who  have  not  been,  I  may  elegantly  describe 
the  lake  as  three  great  sausages,  the  top  sausage 
having  two  great  arms  !  You  sail  out  through 
a  charming  little  strait  into  sausage  No.  2,  and 


J 24  SWISS   LETTERS. 

seem  to  be  quite  in  a  new  lake;  and  the  same, 
only  going  sharp  at  right  angles,  into  No.  3.  The 
morning  was  beautiful;  no  wind,  and  bright  sun; 
water,  deep  emerald.  Just  after  entering  sau- 
sage No.  3,  Mr.  S.  called  our  attention  to  what 
looked  like  a  most  lovely  rippling  line  of  emerald 
and  silver,  about  half  a  mile  ahead.  At  the  same 
moment  the  steamer  men  rushed  on  deck  and 
hauled  down  the  awnings,  and  in  about  a  minute, 
just  like  a  shot,  the  famous  fohnwind  was  down 
upon  us.  We  had  just  had  some  tea,  and  it  blew 
a  heavy  cup  and  saucer  clear  off  the  table;  every- 
thing loose  went  flying;  the  lake  was  covered 
with  green  and  white  waves  all  at  once.  The  men 
helped  the  ladies  down  the  stairs  off  the  top-deck, 
and  cleared  away  every  footstool  and  loose  seat, 
even  turning  a  great  strong  table  on  its  back  with 
legs  up,  or  that  would  have  been  blown  over  too  ! 
It  must  be  awfully  dangerous  for  little  sailing  boats. 
I  never  saw  one  of  these  curious  lake  storms  before, 
and  though  not  in  the  very  least  dangerous  for  a 
•great  steamer,  yet  it  was  most  disagreeable,  and 
on  the  return  journey  quite  upset  me  for  a  little 
while.  I  could  not  have  imagined  such  waves  on  a 
lake,  and  it  certainly  gave  new  force  to  the  storm 
on  Galilee.  We  drove  from  Fluellen  a  few  miles 
along  the  opening  of  the  St.  Gothard  pass,  so  well 
described  as  " solemnly  beautiful";  the  enjoyment 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 3.  225 

was  a  little  spoiled  by  the  wind  which  came  tear- 
ing down  the  pass,  raising  dense  clouds  of  dust. 
Mr.  S.,  however,  was  in  raptures,  to  my  heart's 
content. 


No.  III. 
Hotel  Jungfraublick,  Interlachen.     June  6. 

We  left  Lucerne  yesterday  morning  9.40  (Thurs- 
day), under  very  doubtful  appearances;  Pilatus 
wrapped  up  in  grey  clouds,  air  damp  and  warm, 
and  drizzle  most  of  the  morning.  Still  it  was  a 
new  aspect  of  the  pretty  arm  of  the  lake  down 
which  we  steamed  to  Alpnacht  (11.20). 

The  whole  ride  was  charming  from  11.30  to  6.0, 
but  the  pass  of  the  Bninig  is  exquisite.  You  wind 
up  for  an  hour  and  a  half  mostly  through  trees 
now  in  full  beauty  with  changing  views  first  of 
the  great  valley  behind  you,  then  of  a  glorious 
opening  upon  the  lake  of  Brienz  deep  below,  then 
of  smaller  mountain  valleys,  and  then  of  the  white 
Oberland  Alps  and  the  grand  valley  of  Meyringen.- 
It  had  rained  for  a  good  while,  and  we  feared  it 
was  hopeless  for  anything  but  driving  up  into  grey 
clouds,  when  just  as  we  began  the  ascent  it  left 
off,  and  kept  fair  all  the  way  over  the  pass.  Oddly 
enough  it  is  the  second  time  I  have  gone  over  the 
Briinig  with  the  hope  of  staying  at  the  top,  which 


226  SWISS   LETTERS.       ' 

was  part  of  our  plan;  it  does  seem  such  a  pity  to 
halt  hardly  five  minutes,  for  one  of  the  finest 
views  in  Switzerland,  and  then  tear  downhill 
again.  If  we  could  have  been  certain  of  the 
weather  I  think  we  should  have  stayed.  We 
had  great  fun  in  hoisting  Mrs.  S.  up  to  the  ban- 
quette, for  the  spin  downhill  (only  an  hour);  it 
was  something  quite  new  to  see  her  perched  up 
in  that  style.  I  believe  she  did  it  as  much  to 
entertain  us  as  anything,  which  was  very  amia- 
ble of  her. 

The  next  possibility  was  to  stay  at  the  Giess- 
bach  falls  at  6.30,  and  remain  the  night  to  see 
them  illuminated,  but  unhappily  it  came  on  to  rain 
again,  so  we  steamed  down  the  lake  of  Brienz  to 
Interlachen,  which  we  reached  at  7.30.  We  are 
at  my  beautiful  hotel;  the  card  gives  no  idea  of 
the  views  which  are  all  around,  so  that  there  are 
no  back  and  front  rooms,  but  all  have  fine  views. 
I  have  just  been  a  little  walk  up  the  Niesen  with 
Mr.  S.  and  E.;  it  is  a  glorious  morning  after  the 
rain,  only  the  Jungfrau  wears  her  veil  of  bright 
cloud,  and  I  have  only  once  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  shining  silver  horn.  But  all  the  rest  is 
as  lovely  as  can  be.  It  is  very  warm;  too  hot 
to  go  far  out  of  the  shade.  I  am  writing  out  of 
doors  on  the  terrace  facing  the  Scheinige  Platte 
and  the  lake  of  Brienz.     I  am  so  astonished  at 


•    LETTERS   IN  1 87 3.  227 

Mr.  Snepp's  French;  he  never  gave  me  a  notion 
that  he  knew  a  word,  and  now  he  comes  out  with 
all  that  is  wanted  for  travelling  or  hotel  talk  quite 
fluently,  and  with  a  very  good  accent.  But  here 
French  is  no  use  at  all;  only  German.  He  has  a 
little  pocket  aneroid  barometer,  which  show  the 
height  above  sea  level  exactly;  it  is  so  interesting. 

June  7.  Saturday. — Yesterday  afternoon  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  S.  and  E.  went  to  the  Giesbach  falls; 
I  stayed  quiet,  as  I  have  not  yet  taken  a  blank 
day  since  leaving  home,  and  I  wanted  to  be  very 
fresh  for  an  early  mountain  start  this  morning,  to 
the  Scheinige  Platte.  We  had  all  arranged  over- 
night, guide  and  provisions;  but  it  turned  out  a 
set-in  soaking  rain,  with  not  merely  the  mountains 
covered  with  cloud,  but  the  lower  hills  wreathed 
about  with  white  veils  almost  down  to  the  lake 
level. 

Hotel  Royal,  Chamouni,  Haute  Savoie,  France. 
June  14.     Saturday  evening! 

Actually  not  a  line  written  for  a  whole  week; 
but  when  I  detail  proceedings  you  will  not  be  sur- 
prised that  I  found  no  time  for  writing.  June  the 
8th  was  a  queer  Sunday,  for  though  the  whole  place 
is  Protestant,  there  is  not  a  pretence  at  Sabbath 
observance,  and  the  great  annual  shooting  match 


2  28  SWISS   LETTERS. 

of  the  canton  Berne,  lasting  a  week,  began  on 
Sunday  at  six  a.m.  by  firing  twenty-two  can- 
nons, one  for  each  canton.  The  whole  place  was 
decorated  with  any  amount  of  arches  and  other 
green  erections,  with  mottoes  and  devices  and 
flags  innumerable,  especially  all  over  the  hotels, 
both  roofs  and  windows,  while  Swiss  costumes 
thronged  the  streets  and  roads.  As  we  went  to 
church  another  cannonade  of  twenty-two  rounds 
came  off  close  by,  so  that  we  had  literally  to  pass 
the  cannons'  mouths,  and  the  rifle  shooting  be- 
gins with  an  occasional  cannonade. 

Our  quiet  sweet  Communion  service  was  a 
strange  contrast  to  the  scenes  and  noise  outside. 
The  reverberation  of  the  cannon  among  the  moun- 
tains was  wonderful.  I  must  tell  you  about  little 
E.'s  first  missionary  work,  it  was  so  very  nice 
of  her  and  entirely  unprompted.  A  German 
lady  in  the  hotel  was  a  Protestant,  but  her 
husband  a  Belgian  Romanist;  they  had  one  little 
girl,  a  most  clever  child,  eight  years  old,  speaking 
not  only  French  and  German,  but  English  too 
with  great  fluency.  She  and  E.  played  together 
all  Saturday;  and  then  overhearing  us  talk 
about  this  poor  little  child  being  brought  up  a 
Romanist,  which  of  course  the  priests  had  taken 
care  to  secure,  E.  got  most  interested  and  anxious. 
"  Won't  you  give  her  a  little  tract  ? "    "  Won't  you 


LETTERS   IN  1873.  229 

talk  to  her?"  ''Won't  you  tell  her  not  to  play 
with  her  dolls  on  Sunday?"  So  all  Sunday  E. 
was  in  a  fever  to  get  hold  of  her,  and  succeeded  at 
last  in  bringing  her  up  to  my  room  with  an  air  of 
great  delight.  So  the  little  girls  sat  on  each  side 
of  me,  and  we  had  quite  a  nice  talk,  little  Celes- 
tine  quite  pleased  and  interested,  and  Emily  play- 
ing into  my  hands  in  a  very  pretty  way  and  quite 
helping  me.  However,  as  I  did  not  say  anything 
about  the  dolls,  E.  did  that  herself  before  going 
to  bed,  and  also  gave  Celestine  a  little  Gospel  of 
St.  John.  E.  enters  most  eagerly  into  distribu- 
tion, comes  to  me  for  Gospels  for  waiters  and 
chambermaids,  and  constantly  asks  me  to  give 
them  to  drivers  or  railway  guards. 

Monday,  June  9,  dawned  promisingly,  so  we 
postponed  Grindelwald  till  the  afternoon,  and  Mr. 
S.  and  I  went  up  the  Scheinige  Platte,  starting 
about  6.30;  as  it  is  five  hours  up  (six  thousand 
feet),  and  we  were  not  fully  in  training,  we  had  a 
horse,  professedly  between  us,  but  I  had  the  lion's 
share.  The  Platte  was  quite  a  surprise  to  me; 
it  is  not  an  inviting  looking  hill,  a  steep,  sharp 
edged  ridge,  overlooking  Interlachen,  ascended 
by  a  path  of  three  hundred  zigzags  through  a 
steep  forest;  then  another  thousand  feet  among 
singular  rocks  and  along  the  edge  of  sublime 
precipices  (sheer  down  three  thousand  feet)  and 


230  SWISS    LETTERS. 

a  cone  of  grass,  flowers,  and  snow;  and  then  you 
see  on  the  north  the  whole  of  the  lovely  lakes 
of  Thun  and  Brienz;  and  south,  a  superb  snow 
amphitheatre:  Wetterhorn,  Jungfrau,  Eiger,  etc., 
with  the  two  valleys  of  Grindelwald  and  Lauter- 
brunnen  forking  out  in  green  depth  of  beauty 
several  thousand  feet  below  you. 

It  was  fine  and  calm,  and  the  grand  snow  range 
had  just  enough  of  cloud  hanging  about  it  to 
enhance  the  brilliance  of  the  snow  and  the  mys- 
terious effect  which  those  untrodden  vastnesses 
always  have  more  or  less.  We  stayed  about  half 
an  hour  on  the  top  to  enjoy  the  view  and  the  cold 
meat  and  red  wine !  and  then  scampered  down, 
rather  aggrieved  to  find  that  the  horse  and  guide 
were  great  hindrances  to  speed.  We  started  as 
soon  as  possible  for  Grindelwald,  a  grand  drive 
of  fifteen  miles,  in  two  little  carriages. 


No.  IV. 


Hotel  Royal,  Chamouni.     June  16. 

I  left  off  No.  III.  at  Grindelwald,  Monday,  June 
9.  My  second  impressions  of  Grindelwald  are  far 
beyond  my  first.  I  cannot  think  how  it  was  that 
it  did  not  make  more  impression  on  me  in  1869. 
I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  beautiful;  three  immense 


LETTERS   IN   iS/J-  23 1 

mountains,  Wetterhorn,  Mettenberg,  and  Eiger, 
close  to  and  full  before  one,  with  a  grand  snow 
view  of  the  Viescherhorner  through  the  glacier 
opening  between  them. 

Our  arrangement  usually  is  that  Mr.  S.  and  I 
go  off  for  an  early  excursion  or  walk,  then  Mrs.  S. 
and  Emily  get  more  rest. 

So  on  Tuesday.  Mr.  S.  and  I  started  about 
six,  with  the  most  stupid  guide  I  ever  had,  for  the 
Eismeer,  the  Grindelwald  Mer  da  Glace.  Of  course 
I  got  my  boots  nailed  over  night,  very  knowing 
looking  pyramid-shaped  nails,  which  stick  well 
into  snow  or  smooth  grass,  and  give  a  good  cling 
to  the  foot  when  the  slope  is  very  steep;  they  are 
put  in  about  an  inch  apart.  The  way  was  a  little 
footpath  under  colossal  rocks  overhanging  the  edge 
of  the  glacier,  and  rising  steeply  till  it  brought  us 
up  to  a  level  of  5,500  feet.  From  this  point  we 
looked  down  on  a  great  basin  of  dirty  ice,  all 
over  debris  washed  down  from  the  heights.  The 
motion  of  the  glaciers  is  very  wonderful;  the 
whole  mass  moves  down  bodily,  at  rates  varying 
on  different  glaciers  from  ten  or  twelve  to  four 
hundred  feet  per  annum.  The  new  snow  keeps 
forming  it  above,  and  at  the  valley  end  it  keeps 
melting  and  breaking  away  as  it  reaches  the 
warmer  level.  It  is  a  strong  illustration  of  the 
might  of  silent  influence;  only  the  warm  air,  in- 


232  SWISS   LETTERS. 

visible  and  intangible;  yet  it  forms  an  impassable 
barrier  to  these  millions  of  tons  of  solid  ice,  which 
must  otherwise  pour  down  into  the  valleys  and 
destroy  all  life.  But  the  basin  of  dirty  ice  (two 
or  three  miles  in  extent)  was  not  all  we  came  to 
see.  It  was  bounded  by  a  magnificent  and  dazz- 
ling amphitheatre  of  snow,  with  only  a  protuber- 
ant dark  rock  here  and  there  to  throw  up  the 
brilliant  whiteness,  running  up  to  over  eleven 
thousand  feet  high;  while  the  entrance  of  the 
gorge  down  which  the  glacier  pours  to  the  valley 
below  is  a  great  rock  portal,  of  which  the  right 
doorpost  consists  of  the  celebrated  precipice  of 
the  Eiger,  which  goes  sheer  up  (too  nearly  per- 
pendicular for  snow  to  cover)'  to  more  than  twelve 
thousand  feet  high. 

Then  we  had  a  very  stiff  scramble  of  perhaps 
three  hundred  feet  down  to  the  glacier  itself;  and 
here,  but  for  God's  providence  and  Mr.  S.'s  watch- 
fulness, I  should  have  had  a  serious  accident. 
Part  of  the  descent  was  by  two  rough  ladders 
against  the  face  of  the  rock;  the  first  was  easy,  but 
the  second  not  only  long  but  very  steep  indeed. 
The  guide  went  first,  and  most  culpably  never 
warned  me  that  the  handrail  of  the  ladder  con- 
sisting of  two  very  long  slender  pine  poles,  pierced 
half  way,  was  broken,  so  that  the  end  of  the  upper 
pole  was  loose  and  ended   in  mid-air.     Down  I 


LETTERS   IN  1873.  233 

went  (backwards),  one  hand  adjusting  my  dress, 
and  the  other  holding  fast  to  the  rail.  As  I  could 
not  see  from  above  that  it  was  broken,  and  sus- 
pected no  danger,  I  was  going  comfortably  down, 
face  to  the  rock,  and  in  another  minute  should 
have  come  to  the  sudden  end  of  the  rail  to  which 
I  was  trusting,  when  nothing  but  a  miracle  could 
have  preserved  me  from  a  very  severe  fall  of  many 
feet  on  to  the  boulders  below;  but  Mr.  S.  sud- 
denly saw  and  shouted  to  me  to  stop;  I  instantly 
did  so,  and  looking  behind  saw  the  broken  rail 
in  time  not  to  trust  it  further.  We  went  some 
distance  over  the  glacier,  and  had  the  satisfaction 
of  hearing  several  avalanches,  and  seeing  one 
rather  good  one.  My  notion  of  an  avalanche 
always  used  to  be  a  gigantic  snowball  bounding 
down,  but  they  are  really  rather  a  snow  fall,  just 
like  a  waterfall,  only  snow.  This  one  started  high 
up,  and  poured  over  several  ledges  of  rock  in 
succession,  till  it  reached  the  edge  of  the  glacier, 
where  it  formed  in  three  minutes  a  great  mound 
of  snow,  I  should  think  thirty  or  forty  feet  high; 
the  roar  lasted  nearly  five  minutes.  It  was  rather 
pretty  and  elegant  than  grand,  to  see  it  come 
down.  From  the  glacier  we  could  see  the  ridge 
where  the  Rev.  Julius  Elliott  was  killed  in  1869, 
within  half  an  hour  of  the  summit  of  the  Schreck- 
horn  (Horn  of  Terror). 


234  SWISS   LETTERS. 

We  got  to  the  hotel  again  at  11-30,  and  then 
went  all  together  to  see  Mr.  E.'s  grave.  There  is  a 
granite  slab  over  it,  and  a  tablet  against  the  church 
wall  with  Heb.  xi.  5,  "  For  before  his  translation," 
etc.,  and  "To  depart  and  be  with  Christ,  which  is 
far  better."  The  Grindelwald  people  keep  it  in 
order  themselves,  and  keep  "edelweiss"  planted 
round  it,  the  Alpine  flower  par  excellence,  which  is 
never  found  below  eight  thousand  feet. 

In  the  afternoon  we  drove  to  Lauterbrunnen; 
unfortunately  the  Jungfrau  was  clouded,  so  we  lost 
the  special  beauty  of  the  valley.  We  pottered 
about  up  and  down  the  village  and  to  the  Staub- 
bach;  and  then  I  put  some  knowing  guides  up 
to  beguiling  Mrs.  S.  into  just  trying  a  chaise  a 
porteur,  which  previously  she  would  not  hear  of, 
and  at  last  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her 
trotted  out  in  one.  This  led  to  arranging  for  a 
small  expedition  next  morning,  which  was  to  pave 
the  way  for  something  better. 

Wednesday,  June  II,  accordingly  we  had  a  walk 
(about  three  miles)  to  the  Triimlenbach,  along  the 
valley,  spending  most  of  the  way  in  arguments 
and  persuasions  for  Miirren,  which  Mr.  S.  and  I 
were  to  have  done  alone,  but  which  it  would  have 
been  a  thousand  pities  for  Mrs.  S.  to  have  missed. 
At  last,  to  my  exultation,  we  won  the  cause,  and 
Mrs.  S.  consented  to  come  up  to  Miirren  for  the 


LETTERS   IN   iS'/J.  235 

night,  seeing  that  the  porte-chaise  somewhat  ex- 
ceeded her  expectations.  So  we  started  directly 
after  lunch  and  took  it  easy,  and  by  6.30  found 
ourselves  at  the  pretty  new  inn,  5,500  feet  high. 

Though  a  fine  and  promising  afternoon  we  got 
neither  sunset  nor  sunrise,  i.e.  veiled  mountains  and 
no  tints  at  all.  Still,  unless  absolutely  buried  in 
clouds,  Miirren  must  always  be  grand,  the  mount- 
ains look  more  colossal  and  majestic  than  from 
any  other  place.  It  is  just  the  right  height  to 
get  the  double  effect  of  depth  and  height,  the 
valley  below  so  near  and  deep,  and  the  giants 
opposite  so  close  and  precipitous.  I  enjoyed  get- 
ting up  into  the  colder  mountain  air;  it  is  differ- 
ent from  valley  cold,  and  seems  to  brace  and  ex- 
hilarate without  chilling. 

Though  Miirren  was  unknown  not  many  years 
ago,  there  is  now  a  good  sized  new  hotel,  with  two 
"  dependances "  besides,  and  an  immense  new 
rival  is  nearly  finished,  and  there  is  talk  of  a  rail- 
way up  like  the  Rigi !  Dreadful  as  that  sounds, 
one  really  can't  be  selfish  enough  to  grudge  any 
means  of  facilitating  the  ascent,  so  that  thousands 
may  share  the  sublime  view.  Any  one  who  has 
not  been  there  will  hardly  understand  the  fact  that, 
with  this  indescribably  splendid  mountain  view, 
one  is  really  distracted  from  it  at  almost  every 
step  by  the  flowers.    No  description  can  exagger- 


236  SWISS   LETTERS. 

ate  these,  either  as  to  variety,  loveliness,  brilliance 
of  color,  or  number.  The  whole  place  is  one 
mass  of  flowers,  thicker  than  ever  you  saw  the 
thickest  daisy  or  buttercup  field  of  monotonous 
yellow  or  white.  Here  and  there  in  patches  some 
special  flower  predominates,  but  generally  all  are 
mixed  up  together,  perhaps  twenty  species  in  a 
square  yard,  and  most  of  the  colors  intensely 
brilliant.  I  think  we  must  have  gone  at  the  right 
time  exactly,  for  I  do  not  remember  quite  such 
splendor  in  1869.  Chief  of  all  for  attraction  are 
the  forget-me-nots,  much  brighter  and  larger  than 
the  English  ones,  whole  spikes  of  living  turquoise 
waving  by  myriads,  then  gentians  and  pansies,  and 
large  exquisite  primrose-colored  anemones,  and 
smaller  white  ones,  and  pink  primula-like  clusters, 
and  purple  bells  most  delicately  fringed,  and  in- 
tense blue  starflowers  with  a  clear  white  eye, 
called  "heaven  flowers,"  and  dozens  of  others.  I 
brought  in  a  nosegay  which  Mr.  S.  said  was  fit  for 
a  queen,  only  a  queen  could  not  purchase  such  a 
one  unless  she  came  to  Miirren  to  get  it;  for  they 
always  fade  long  before  we  can  get  down  to  the 
valley  again.  However,  even  below  there  is  a 
wealth  of  flowers  which  one  never  sees  in  England, 
only  just  a  little  commoner  than  this  lovely  aristo- 
cracy of  flowers  up  above,  so  delicate  and  noble. 
It  is  worth  any  one's  while  to  go  early  to  Switzer- 


LETTERS    IN   lS?J.  237 

land  to  see  them;  no  one  would  believe  it  who 
only  goes  in  July  and  August. 

Sleeping  at  Miirren  gave  a  fine  chance  for  Mr. 
S.  and  me  to  go  up  the  Schilthorn  (nearly  10,000 
feet),  the  finest  non-dangerous  ascent  in  the  Ober- 
land.  So  we  committed  ourselves  to  a  good  guide, 
who  put  us  through  a  catechism  as  to  our  capa- 
bilities and  equipments,  insisting  on  gaiters,  veils, 
and  dark  spectacles,  without  either  of  which  three 
he  refused  to  take  us !  As  Mr.  S.  had  no  veil,  the 
guide  first  suggested  that  it  would  answer  equally 
well  to  wet  the  face  thoroughly  and  then  blow 
flour  over  it  !  Fancy  being  done  up  in  paste  pre- 
vious to  being  baked  in  the  sun  !  But  he  said  any 
Anglais  would  have  his  face  skinned  if  he  went 
up  the  Schilthorn  without  either  veil  or  flour  and 
water.  As  Mr.  S.  did  not  see  the  beauty  of  the 
latter  plan,  he  offered  to  lend  him  a  veil,  and  pro- 
duced one,  probably  green  originally,  but  resolved 
by  weather  and  wear  into  its  constituents  of  blue 
and  yellow  with  a  little  surviving  green.  This  he 
fastened  on  Mr.  S.'s  white  hat  in  a  style  that  would 
astonish  Perry  Barr.  Then  he  agreed  to  call  us 
at  two  a.m.  and  departed.  So  at  two  a.m.  up  we 
got,  and  soon  after  2.30  had  coffee,  turning  out,  to 
poor  Mrs.  S.'s  utter  horror,  a  little  before  three.  It 
was  cloudy  and  dark,  but  quite  hopeful,  and  might 
yet  be  magnificent.     We  toiled  up  for  two  hours, 


238  SWISS   LETTERS. 

vainly  hoping  that  a  tantalizing  glimpse  or  two 
of  a  speck  of  gleaming  snow  apparently  up  in  the 
clouds  might  expand  into  a  revelation  of  the 
whole  range  in  dawn-beauty,  but  soon  after  we 
came  to  the  first  snow  even  that  disappeared,  and 
the  clouds  came  upon  us  with  a  very  cool  wel- 
come to  their  domain. 

We  plunged  on  over  a  snow  slope  or  two  in 
pouring  rain,  and  then  the  guide  faced  round,  and 
after  an  ominous  silence  declared  his  mind,  viz., 
that  it  was  a  great  mortification  and  disappoint- 
ment to  him  to  fail,  but  he  must  tell  us  candidly 
that  we  must  give  up;  the  rain  was  hopeless,  and 
had  already  so  softened  the  snow  that  it  would 
be  entirely  impossible  for  any  mortal  to  get  to  the 
top,  and  we  might  as  well  turn  back  at  once  as 
struggle  on  for  five  hours  more  and  then  be  de- 
feated. Decision  is  always  better  than  uncertainty, 
so  we  scampered  down  again  as  fast  as  we  could, 
and  went  to  bed  at  6.30,  while  our  clothes  were 
dried.  It  was  a  great  disappointment  to  both  of 
us,  for  the  Schilthorn  is  a  first-rate  thing  to  do. 

Happily  it  cleared  up  splendidly  by  eight  at 
Murren,  though  the  Schilthorn  remained  wrapped 
in  dense  rain  clouds.  So  after  breakfast  we  had 
a  very  pleasant,  though  dirty,  trot  down  again  to 
Lauterbrunnen. 

After  some  hurried  soup  we  drove  off  to  Inter- 


LETTERS   IN   iS/J.  239 

lachen,  where  the  chief  impediments  (rightly  so 
named)  had  been  left,  and,  after  a  fatiguing  scram- 
ble of  packing  and  washerwomen  and  small  bills, 
got  off  to  the  train  which  now,  instead  of  omni- 
buses, meets  the  Thun  steamers.  It  is  a  delight- 
ful little  two-mile  railway,  with  covered  seats  on 
the  top  of  all  the  carriages,  just  from  Interlachen 
to  the  landing-place.  We  lost  the  lovely  lake  of 
Thun,  just  as  in  1869,  not  a  mountain  top  to  be 
seen,  driving  rain  all  the  way,  and  wind  and  mo- 
tion enough  to  make  us  uncomfortable.  We  got 
to  Berne  (same  hotel  as  in  1869)  between  seven 
and  eight,  a  tiring  day. 

Next  day,  Friday,  rail  from  Berne  to  Geneva, 
rain  most  of  the  way,  so  that  we  could  see  little 
of  the  views,  which  ought  to  be  very  interesting. 
Saturday  (June  14)  was  just  fair  enough  to  justify 
starting,  and  at  7.15  we  mounted  one  of  those 
wonderful  "diligences  inversables  "  which  are  pe- 
culiar to  this  one  road.  They  consist  of  a  gigantic 
coffin  below,  which  holds  any  quantity  of  luggage, 
and  acts  as  ballast  to  the  wThole  concern.  Then 
over  this  are  five  rows  of  seats,  rising  behind  each 
other  like  a  deep  gallery,  so  that  twenty  people 
(on  emergency  twenty-five)  can  all  have  a  full 
front  view  at  once.  There  is  a  peculiar  board  just 
over  the  horses'  tails,  on  which  two  or  three  extra 
of  the  aborigines  can  sit  if  needs  be,  but  the  pas- 


240      -  SWISS   LETTERS. 

sengers'  seats  are  luxurious  with  red  velvet.  Over 
our  heads  is  a  sort  of  canopy  stretching  across 
glazed  sides;  if  neither  wet  nor  sunny  this  canopy 
can  be  rolled  back  altogether,  and  as  the  whole  of 
the  glass  sides  can  be  let  down,  it  then  becomes  an 
entirely  open  carriage,  all  except  the  coupe,  which 
is  boxed  in  at  the  very  back  with  the  worst  view 
and  the  least  air,  and  for  which  the  wise  English 
pay  a  good  deal  extra,  in  order  to  keep  themselves 
to  themselves  and  avoid  the  oi  noXXoi.  We  had 
the  whole  front  row,  and  I  enjoyed  it  extremely. 
But,  alas  !  the  grand  views  of  Mont  Blanc  all 
clouded  over,  and  finished  up  with  a  wet  evening. 
I  was  particularly  sorry  for  this,  because  the  drive 
up  to  Chamouni  is  unsurpassable,  and  I  think 
gives  the  finest  "first  impression"  of  Mont  Blanc. 
The  Swiss  tell  me  that  the  weather  for  the  last 
year  or  two  has  never  been  settled,  and  has  baffled 
the  calculations  of  the  oldest  guides.  We  had  de- 
cided on  the  Hotel  Imperial,  and  went,  found  the 
front  door  open  and  walked  in,  but  rang  bells  in 
vain,  and  then  discovered  that  it  was  void,  noth- 
ing "open "  except  the  entrance  !  It  was  so  funny. 
Two  others  looked  "fermes"  also,  so  we  went  to 
the  Royal  and  got  a  very  cheerful  set  of  rooms 
with  good  view,  having  choice  of  nearly  all  the 
rooms  in  the  house,  as  it  is  so  early  yet  for 
Chamouni.     We  all  agree  however  that,  though 


LETTERS   IN   1 '8 J J.  24 1 

too  early  for  high  mountain  excursions,  it  is  much 
better  on  the  whole  than  later,  less  heat  and  dust, 
cleaned  up  rooms  everywhere,  always  a  choice  of 
apartments,  much  better  attendance  than  when 
all  is  full,  less  noise  and  bustle,  no  crowded  car- 
riages, and  the  glorious  Alpine  flowers  !  It  was 
quite  pleasant  to  settle  in  here,  after  sleeping  in 
different  hotels  for  eight  consecutive  nights,  and 
the  last  three  days  were  more  fatiguing  than  ex- 
cursions, being  travel,  which  implies  "baggages 
et  billets,"  and  the  still  greater  evils  of  smaller 
boxes,  baskets,  and  bags,  not  to  mention  shawls, 
umbrellas,  parasols,  and  alpenstocks. 

Nothing  like  a  carpetbag  tour,  with  no  pack- 
ing and  unpacking  and  registering  and  looking 
after  and  carrying  about  and  counting  up  to  do  ! 

It  was  nice  to  find  a  notice  up,  that,  for  those 
who  missed  family  prayer,  the  chaplain,  Rev.  J.  F. 
Bickerdike,  would  hold  it  every  evening,  at  8.30,  in 
the  reading  room.  So  of  course  we  went,  only 
"  two  or  three,"  but  it  was  very  nice.  Mr.  B.  is 
very  earnest  and  spiritually  minded;  and  Mrs.  B. 
very  nice  too.  She  was  at  Mr.  Pennefather's 
Deaconess  Institution  for  some  time,  and  has  told 
us  a  good  deal  about  Mildmay.  She  says  that 
every  one  appeared  to  have  been  impressed  with 
the  singular  heavenliness  of  Mr.  P.  during  his  last 
year.     For   many  months   before   his    death    his 


242  SWISS    LETTERS. 

special  anxiety  and  interest  had  been  prayer  for 
real  spiritual  blessing  upon  the  immense  amount 
of  machinery  and  organization  which  he  had  com- 
pleted; work  and  workers  all  marvellously  organ- 
ized, and  then  his  one  thought  seemed  to  be 
seeking  for  blessing  upon  it  all. 

Sunday,  June  15,  was  a  brilliant  morning; 
Mont  Blanc  dazzling,  though  less  grand  from 
Chamouni  itself  than  from  any  other  point  of 
view;  one  is  too  close  under  it  to  form  any  idea 
of  its  height.  The  little  English  church  was 
bright  and  cheerful;  every  one  likes  it  better  than 
almost  any  other  Sunday  halt;  and  somehow  they 
always  manage  to  have  excellent  chaplains,  who 
do  not  chill  one  by  reading  commonplace  little 
sermons  which  were  produced  under  totally  differ- 
ent circumstances.  It  must  be  a  poverty-stricken 
heart  indeed,  which  can't  speak  out  of  its  abund- 
ance in  Switzerland.  There  is  a  small  harmonium, 
which  I  played  in  the  morning:  Tallis,  Worcester 
Chant,  and  Farrant  for  chants;  Nottingham  to 
"This  is  the  day  the  Lord  hath  made";  and 
Hanover  to  "  O  worship  the  King  all  glorious 
above." 

The  responding  and  singing  were  capital,  though 
the  congregation  only  about  eighty.  There  are  a 
few  French  Protestant  families  here,  who  are  visited 
twice  a  year  by  a  distant  pasteur;  so  Mr.  B.,  who 


LETTERS   IN  1 87 3.  243 

is  a  thorough  French  scholar,  kindly  visits  and 
gathers  them  to  a  little  French  service,  at  7  p.m. 
(English  p.m.  service  is  at  four),  but  after  this  is 
going  to  have  them  at  9  a.m.  because  that  will 
suit  them  better.  There  is  Holy  Communion 
every  Sunday  morning.  There  was  quite  a  nice 
gathering  at  the  8.30  p.m.  "family  prayers,"  and 
we  sang  Hymns  17  and  14  from  "Songs  of  Grace 
and   Glory." 

Monday,  June  16,  we  planned  a  grand  expedi- 
tion, the  "Jardin,"  a  wonderful  glacier  excursion 
which  has  long  been  an  ambition  of  mine.  It  was 
fine  after  a  wet  evening,  so  Mr.  S.  and  I  started  a 
little  before  six,  and  walked  to  Montanvert,  over- 
looking the  Mer  de  Glace  (six  thousand  feet), 
reaching  it  soon  after  eight.  We  asked  for  a  guide 
at  once  to  take  us  up  to  the  "  Jardin,"  and  were 
told  by  the  innkeeper  that  we  ought  to  have 
started  not  later  than  three  a.m.,  and  that  the  snow 
was  far  too  soft  to  do  it  so  late  as  eight,  that 
nobody  has  been  yet  this  year,  and  what  with 
avalanches  and  slips  and  vagaries  of  ice  and  snow 
and  crevasses  and  "  eboulements,"  he  couldn't  say 
whether  any  of  his  garcons  could  find  the  way  at 
all  and  finally  declined  to  sanction  our  going. 
This  was  sure  to  be  right,  because  disinterested  ! 
for  he  sacrificed  his  own  profits  upon  guide,  pro- 
visions and  wine;  and  as  a  first-rate  guide  soon 


244  SWISS   IETTERS. 

after  endorsed  the  decision,  we  had  no  choice 
but  to  give  it  up.  The  chef  des  guides  has  since 
told  us  that  he  does  not  think  the  "Jardin" 
should  be  attempted  till  at  least  the  end  of  next 
week.  So  we  contented  ourselves  with  a  climb  up 
the  height  on  the  right  of  Montanvert,  and  then 
down  and  across  the  Mer  de  Glace. 

We  were  obliged  to  have  a  guide  across  the  ice, 
and  he  says  that  at  this  time  of  year  the  route 
alters  almost  every  day,  crevasses  safe  to-day 
may  be  dangerous  to-morrow;  and  he  is  responsi- 
ble for  inspecting  the  route  every  morning  before 
any  visitors  cross,  setting  up  little  stone  way- 
marks  which  the  other  guides  understand. 

The  big  "Moulin,"  which  Mr.  C.  and  M.  will 
remember  (a  great  hole  in  the  glacier,  down  which 
you  hear  a  tremendous  roar  of  sub-glacial  water 
hundreds  of  feet  below),  is  all  vanished  since  1869. 
We  said  good  bye  to  our  guide,  and  trotted  down 
the  Mauvais  Pas  on  the  other  side,  striking  off 
into  a  little  path  to  get  down  to  the  Sources  de 
l'Arveiron,  where  the  river  rushes  out  of  the  foot 
of  the  glacier;  and  then  down  into  the  road  and 
back  to  Chamouni  by  about  two  o'clock. 

Tuesday,  June  17,  a  very  doubtful  morning,  and 
not  clear  enough  for  the  Col  de  Balm;  so  we 
started  at  six  for  the  Col  de  Voza.  It  was  damp 
and  muggy;  so,  after  walking  nearly  seven  miles,  I 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 3.  245 

gave  in  and  came  straight  back,  while  Mr.  S. 
went  on  up  the  col  alone.  Just  after  I  turned 
back  it  began  a  real  mountain  pour,  so  six  miles 
walking  in  this  was  a  tolerable  soak;  but  nothing 
to  Mr.  S.'s  state,  who  persevered  through  an 
amusing  series  of  difficulties  up  to  the  top,  and 
got  back  nearly  two  hours  later. 

This  morning  again  (Wednesday)  it  is"  pouring, 
and  seems  likely  to  keep  on  at  it.  We  have  had 
more  or  less  rain  every  day  for  a  week  now;  no 
signs  of  fine  weather  yet. 

I  have  written  to  see  if  Mr.  S.  can  extend  his 
tourist  tickets  beyond  the  month;  if  not,  we  get 
back  to  Birmingham  on  the  evening  of  June  27 
and  I  go  on  to  Oakhampton  next  day. 

I  have  not  had  much  conversation  with  the 
natives,  but  have  had  plenty  of  opportunity  of 
giving  tracts  and  portions.  Our  driver  to  Grin- 
delwald  had  a  St.  Luke;  next  evening  he  took  it 
out  of  his  breast  pocket  to  show  me  that  he  had 
it,  saying  it  was  a  treasure  and  he  would  never 
part  with  it.  The  evening  before  he  had  got  it 
out  at  supper,  and  read  it  to  the  roomful  of  guides 
and  drivers;  most  of  them  approved,  and  two  or 
three  wanted  to  buy  it  from  him,  but  he  said  he 
would  not  give  it  up  for  anything.  Then  he  read 
some  more  aloud,  whereupon  a  godless  guide  be- 
gan  scoffing  and  blaspheming;  not  ten  minutes 


246  SWISS   LETTERS. 

after  he  cut  his  hand,  or  rather  wrist,  so  fearfully 
that  he  was  quite  ill,  and  the  driver  said  they 
thought  he  would  be  laid  up  for  a  fortnight,  the 
loss  of  blood  being  so  great  as  to  be  dangerous;  I 
suppose  it  was  an  artery.  The  others  were  quite 
impressed,  and  said  it  was  a  judgment  of  God 
upon  him.  This  old  driver  seemed  to  have  the 
fear  of  God,  and  listened  earnestly  and  responded 
warmly  to  all  I  tried  to  tell  him. 


No.   V. 


Hotel  Royal,  Chamouni.     June  19. 

We  are  not  well  off  as  to  weather;  Tuesday 
and  Wednesday  entirely  lost,  a  continued  pour. 
We  reckoned  on  a  probable  fine  morning  after  it, 
and  early  it  was  lovely;  but  we  did  not  arrange 
to  start  till  10.30,  and  we  had  a  hot  and  unprofit- 
able tug  up  to  the  Montanvert,  and  a  dull  cloudy 
day,  not  the  top  of  a  single  aiguille  visible.  The 
only  fun  was  taking  E.  up;  she  is  the  strongest 
child  I  ever  knew,  and  enjoys  the  whole  thing 
deliciously. 

At  the  little  inn  they  brought  us  first  a  tureen 
of  bright  yellow  soup,  tasting  like  bad  sour  milk 
and  oil,  which  even  I  could  not  touch  !  They  call 
the  compound  ilegg  soup,"  and  professed  great 


LETTERS   IN   iS/J.  247 

astonishment  at  our  not  liking  it.  Then  they 
produced  a  tureen  of  dish-water  with  a  mild  fla- 
voring of  broth  in  which  floated  irregular  slices 
and  lumps  of  stale  bread,  with  a  few  blacks  and  a 
good  deal  of  smoke  to  improve  the  mess.  So  for 
once  I  really  appreciated  table  d'hote  on  our  re- 
turn, which  is  generally  an  unmitigated  bore. 
Mr.  Bickerdike  always  says  grace  from  the  head 
of  the  table  and  the  little  gathering  every  night 
for  ''family  prayers  "  is  very  nice. 

Last  evening  looked  very  doubtful  and  heavily 
clouded;  had  any  one  guessed  it  would  have  turned 
out  a  glorious  morning,  we  might  have  arranged 
for  Col  de  Balm  early,  and  might  have  been  off  at 
five  or  so.  It  is  now  (10.30),  though  still  fine, 
quite  clouded  on  the  Breven  and  Col  de  Balm; 
how  curious  it  is  that  only  the  early  mornings, 
from  four  to  nine,  are  ever  really  clear  (with  rare 
exceptions).  This  afternoon  Mr.  S.  and  I  are  go- 
ing to  make  our  last  attempt  at  a  good  excursion; 
and  having  been  disappointed  of  both  the  others 
(Schilthorn  and  Jardin),  I  do  very  much  hope 
weather  will  keep  up  for  this,  the  only  remaining 
feather  for  our  caps,  Les   Grands  Mulets. 


248  SWISS   LETTERS. 


No.    VI. 


Hotel  Royal,  Chamouni. 
,  Monday,   June  23. 

Hurrah  !  We  have  done  it,  and  could  not  pos- 
sibly have  had  a  more  successful  or  a  more  amus- 
ing- excursion,  "  la  premiere  ascension  "  of  the  year 
and  consequently  all  Chamouni  excited  about  it. 
We  had  inquired  at  the  Bureau  des  Guides,  and 
found  that  the  regulation  was  two  guides  and  a 
porter  at  an  exorbitant  tariff,  being  a  "  course  ex- 
traordinaire." It  did  seem  waste  to  spend  six  or 
seven  pounds  on  one  excursion,  so  we  said  it  was 
out  of  the  question.  However,  two  strong  young 
fellows  not  yet  admitted  as  "guides,"  but  only  as 
"porteurs,"  who  had  formed  part  of  Mrs.  Snepp's 
carriers  to  Montanvert,  talked  to  us  about  it.  They 
had  their  testimonial  books  to  show,  one  had  been 
seventeen  times  up  Mont  Blanc,  and  all  seemed 
satisfactory.  They  undertook  to  take  us  up  them- 
selves without  any  further  fuss,  and  so  Mr.  S. 
agreed  to  entrust  them  with  our  bones.  Their 
eagerness  and  delight  were  comical;  there  is  a 
certain  eclat  about  "la  premiere  ascension,"  and 
they  would  go  on  any  terms,  so  that  they  might 
have  the  glory  of  it,  and  take  the  shine  out  of  their 
superiors,  the  sworn  "guides."  We  saw  that  we 
could  not  be  in  better  hands,  as  all  their  interest 


LETTERS    IN   iS/J.  249 

lay  in  making  it  a  first-rate  success.  Our  boots 
had  to  be  fresh  nailed,  and  a  bigger  spike  put  in 
my  stick,  and  various  arrangements  made,  all 
which  they  looked  after. 

On  Friday,  at  2.30  p.m.,  we  set  off,  accompanied 
for  the  first  stage  by  Mrs.  S.  and  E.  and  the 
Bickerdikes,  our  fellows  strutting  in  triumph  with 
their  great  ice  axes,  called  piolets,  and  a  great 
coil  of  rope,  and  our  small  effects. 

The  first  part  was  very  hot,  but  we  took  it 
slowly;  then  came  forest  and  ferns;  then  the  path 
got  worse,  with  tiny  torrents  crossing  it,  till  by  5.30 
we  reached  the  first  snow  patches,  alternating  with 
flowers,  and  about  six  we  reached  Pierre  Pointue, 
where  we  wrere  to  sleep.  I  had  a  little  wooden 
room,  with  single  boards  between  my  head  and 
the  back  den  where  the  guides  snored.  Mr.  S. 
had  the  salon  converted  into  a  tidy  bedroom  by 
the  importation  of  trestles  and  boards  as  soon  as 
our  supper  was  cleared  away.  As  there  was  no 
fire,  we  went  into  the  little  kitchen  and  warmed 
our  feet  in  the  oven,  where  also  our  boots  were 
baked  previous  to  being  greased  for  the  ascent. 

As  soon  as  our  guides  had  eaten,  they  dashed 
off  to  collect  wood  and  dried  rhododendrons  for  a 
bonfire,  for  of  course  Chamouni  must  be  apprised 
of  our  arrival,  and  as  it  got  dark  the  flame  blazed 
up  well  on  a  jutting  rock  in  full  view  of  the  hotels 


250  SWISS    LETTERS. 

below.  Meanwhile  we  had  a  grand  sunset,  several 
sunset  pictures  in  one,  all  thrown  up  by  the  dark 
depth  of  the  valley  below.  On  the  right  the 
Aiguille  Verte  and  Aiguille  du  Dru  formed  an 
exquisite  calm  picture  apart,  both  a  delicate  rose 
color,  partly  veiled  by  floating  mist  of  semi- 
transparent  silver.  Opposite,  intense  purple  and 
very  stormy-looking  clouds  massed  densely  all 
along  the  tops  of  the  Breven  range;  but  their 
other  side  must  have  been  gorgeous,  for  a  weird 
light  was  reflected  down  from  underneath  it  upon 
the  upper  slopes  of  rock  and  snow  as  from  a  great 
hidden  fire,  quite  different  from  the  direct  sunlight. 
Then  over  the  Pic  de  Varens  were  great  rifts  of 
gold  quivering  with  intensity  and  showing  distant 
peaks  of  softer  brilliance,  changing  every  minute, 
as  if  a  series  of  golden  gates  were  being  unrolled, 
revealing  gates  of  opal  and  pearl  beyond  them. 
Then  to  the  left  and  behind  the  Dome  and  Aiguille 
du  Goute,  lit  up  with  amber  and  scarlet,  the  Mont 
Maudit  shone  out  as  a  cloud-tipped  expanse  of 
glowing  snow;  while  the  true  summit  of  Mont 
Blanc  just  glimpsed  through  cloud,  so  rich  in  rose- 
fire  and  so  beautiful  that  it  was  hardly  tantalizing 
that  the  moment  of  full  revelation  never  came,  and 
all  died  away  into  white  and  grey  as  our  bonfire 
blazed  up  just  below  us. 


LETTERS   IN  iS/J.  25 1 

Of  course  I  went  to  bed  at  once,  and  soon  to 
sleep,  spite  of  the  snoring  through  the  boards. 
In  the  middle  of  the  night  I  heard  a  continued 
scratching,  suggestive  of  rats,  only  it  must  be  a 
snow  species,  as  ours  would  not  find  the  climate 
agreeable;  after  a  while  I  found  it  proceeded 
from  the  salon,  where  Mr.  S.  was  vainly  scraping 
damp  matches  on  the  boards  that  he  might  see 
the  time.  Presently  the  host  roused  up  and  gave 
a  light;  it  was  1.10  a.m.,  so  we  had  yet  fifty 
minutes  to  sleep.  The  men  did  not  seem  to  mind 
being  routed  up,  it  was  part  of  their  business,  and 
they  subsided  again  quite  good  temperedly,  and 
in  three  minutes  the  snoring  recommenced.  They 
made  it  up  by  overshooting  two  o'clock,  when 
they  should  have  called  us,  so  Mr.  S.  himself  gave 
the  reveille  at  2.10.  I  rushed  anxiously  to  my 
window,  and  rubbed  the  frosty  pane  to  look  out, 
for  it  had  been  hard  to  distinguish  between  wind 
and  torrents;  to  my  exceeding  delight  it  was  the 
latter  only,  and  the  morning  was  perfect,  the  stars 
sparkling  like  winter,  Mont  Blanc  cloudless,  and 
just  gleaming  with  that  strange  pale  light  preced- 
ing the  dawn. 

By  a  little  after  three  we  were  off.  The  Cranes 
will  remember  the  scramble  to  Pierre  a  l'Echelle 
well,  a  narrow  path  skirting  a  precipice;  it  is  now 
all  snow,  up  which  we  worked  step  by  step,  each 


252  SWISS   LETTERS. 

foot  planted  with  a  firm  poke  to  ensure  the  footing, 
and  also  improve  the  track  for  after  comers.  They 
will  recollect  the  snow  slopes  down  which  Aristide 
Couttet  glissaded;  it  was  up  these  we  climbed. 
At  Pierre  a  l'Echelle  we  roped,  the  guides  and 
Mr.  S.  having  leather  belts  with  a  metal  ring  like 
harness,  too  heavy  for  me;  I  was  simply  noosed 
round  the  waist  with  a  firm  knot.  They  insisted  on 
a  certain  order:  Desailloud  first,  then  myself,  then 
Payot,  and  Mr.  S.  last,  saying  this  was  the  safest 
arrangement.  About  eight  or  ten  feet  of  rope  are 
allowed  between  each  person,  they  showed  us 
it  was  a  real  Alpine  Club  rope,  known  by  a  red 
thread  in  the  middle  of  the  three  strands,  and  gave 
us  distinct  instructions  what  to  do  in  case  of  one 
slipping,  or  snow  giving  way,  and  dangling  in  a 
crevasse.  The  sun  had  struck  the  summits  with 
very  beautiful  coloring,  something  between  amber 
and  crimson;  and  Mr.  S.  called  a  halt' and  would 
have  the  Morning  Hymn  !  It  was  very  bad 
economy  of  wind,  I  sang  two  verses  and  then 
"  struck."  Sticking  half  way  up  a  snow  slope, 
holding  on  by  a  projecting  crag  at  four  a.m.,  is 
not  the  most  favorable  position  for  hymn-singing, 
however  inspiring  the  sunrise  may  be.  We  worked 
up  and  across  the  great  Glacier  des  Bossons,  in- 
comparably grander  than  the  Mer  de  Glace;  and 
if  you  want  a  good  idea  of  it,  study  any  of  those 


LETTERS   IN   iS/J.  253 

snow  stereoscopes,  with  people  crossing  crevasses 
and  threading  among  blocks  and  pinnacles  of  ice 
and  looking  down  into  gulfs;  they  give  an  excel- 
lent idea  of  it.  I  could  have  fancied  I  had  got 
into  a  stereoscope  box  in  a  dream. 

The  snow  was  in  excellent  condition,  i.e.  we  did 
not  often  go.  in  above  our  knees  !  and  every  now 
and  then  only  went  ankle-deep  for  a  treat,  and  in 
a  few  very  sheltered  parts  we  could  trot  over  the 
crust  without  breaking  it. 

Every  few  minutes  Desailloud  shouted  "Atten- 
tion!" "Faitestendre  lacorde!"  (stretch  the  rope) 
and  that  signified  a  crevasse.  Then  we  went  very 
slowly,  stretching  the  rope  tight  between  us  (which 
reduces  the  shock  if  anybody  goes  in),  while  De- 
sailloud sounded  the  snow  step  by  step,  sometimes 
cutting  away  an  unsafe  bit,  as  it  is  safer  to  step  or 
spring  across  an  open  fissure  than  a  hidden  one. 
There  is  so  much  snow  now  that  most  of  the 
crevasses  are  well  snowed  over,  and  we  needed  no 
ladders,  which  are  necessary  in  August.  We  had 
to  pass  close  under  the  Aiguille  du  Midi,  where 
the  torn  snow  showed  we  were  on  the  track  of 
avalanches;  and  here  Desailloud  hurried  us  on, 
saying  the  sooner  we  got  over  that  ten  minutes 
the  better,  as  there  was  no  foreseeing  an  avalanche. 
All  this  time  we  had  the  advantage  of  being  in  the 
shadow  of  the  immense  heights,  with  sharp  frosty 


254  SWISS   LETTERS. 

air  and  crackling  snow.  About  7.15  we  came  out 
upon  the  steep  snow  slopes  on  the  other  side  of  the 
two  glaciers  we  had  crossed,  and  were  not  only  in 
full  view  of  the  sun  but  of  Chamouni.  In  three 
minutes  the  guides  caught  the  sound  of  cannon, 
and  listening  we  heard  two  more  rounds.  "  On 
nous  voit ! "  they  shouted  in  a  state  of  ecstasy, 
"Everybody  in  Chamouni  can  see  us  with  the  big 
telescopes  !"  They  were  so  charmed,  and  I  think 
we  found  it  rather  stimulating  also,  to  know  that 
we  were  being  watched  from  below.  Desailloud 
gave  himself  the  trouble  of  hoisting  a  great  shawl 
on  his  piolet  as  a  flag,  and  carrying  it  up  three 
steep  slopes  in  triumph.  And  they  were  very  steep, 
though  not  at  all  dangerous,  as  we  got  footing 
nearly  knee-deep  for  every  step. 

A  little  before  eight  we  reached  the  Grands 
Mulets,  black  desolate  peaked  rocks  in  the  midst 
of  an  ocean  of  snow,  and  our  arrival  was  signalled 
instantly  by  four  more  cannonades  in  Chamouni. 
There  is  a  wooden  cabin  perched  on  a  shelf  of  the 
rock;  the  guides  knew  where  to  find  the  key,  and 
set  our  luncheon  for  us  quite  tidily,  while  we  sat 
cross-legged  on  the  two  little  beds  to  warm  our 
feet.  Payot  acted  lady's  maid  and  took  off  my 
boots  and  stockings  (I  could  not  possibly  get  them 
off  myself),  and  kindly  lent  me  a  pair  of  his  own 
enormous  worsted  socks,  warm  and  dry,  which  soon 


LETTERS   IN  1 87 3.  255 

warmed  me  up  beautifully,  and  then  I  sat  upon 
my  feet  and  handed  the  socks  to  Mr.  S.,  who  was 
very  cold  indeed,  so  that  I  was  almost  frightened 
for  him  till  a  little  food  and  cognac  warmed  him 
up  too.  I  did  not  feel  the  least  tired  all  the  way, 
and  could  have  gone  on  much  higher  with  ease; 
but  as  soon  as  I  had  eaten  I  went  fast  asleep  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  which  seemed  rather  grievous 
to  do  in  such  a  scene,  but  I  could  not  help  it,  and 
woke  up  as  fresh  as  possible  for  the  descent.  In 
the  meantime  our  guides  had  set  off  on  their  own 
account,  scrambling  and  tearing  about  just  like 
boys  out  of  school,  yelling  madly,  coming  down 
again  right  over  the  roof  of  the  cabin,  which  was 
all  snow  like  the  rest.  The  powerful  sun  during 
our  halt  had  so  softened  the  snow  that  our  de- 
scent was  a  simple  series  of  slides  and  plunges; 
after  a  few  hundred  feet  we  got  quite  used  to  the 
motion.  Real  glissades  were  not  safe  to  attempt, 
with  the  glacier  below.  We  had  some  lovely  ef- 
fects, such  as  I  have  never  before  seen,  in  passing 
the  colossal  ice  blocks  on  the  shady  side;  the  sun 
behind  them  touching  the  transparent  edges  with 
a  sort  of  aureole,  and  shining  through  a  glittering 
drip  from  the  overhanging  ones.  We  wanted  to 
stop  and  admire,  but  the  guides  said  it  was  "  not 
good"  to  stand  there;  the  giants  have  an  ob- 
jectionable trick  of  tumbling  over  now  and  then, 


256  SWISS   LETTERS. 

and  it  is  as  well  to  keep  out  of  the  way.  The 
snow  bridges  required  a  little  more  caution  than  in 
the  morning,  but  we  passed  them  all  quite  safely. 

At  our  first  halt  on  the  glacier  about  five  a.m., 
Mr.  S.  dropped  his  spectacles  (fortunately  not  the 
dark  ones,  and  the  slope  being  steep  and  the  snow 
hard  they  went  glissading  down  two  or  three 
hundred  feet  till  they  vanished  in  a  hole,  all  in  a 
few  seconds.  We  could  not  have  found  the  place 
again,  but  on  our  return  the  guides  pulled  up  on 
the  lower  edge  of  a  great  hole  about  six  feet  wide, 
overhung  by  snow  and  rock,  and  announced  that 
the  spectacles  were  there,  and  they  would  fetch 
them  up  !  They  had  made  a  different  return  track 
on  purpose.  Mr.  S.  entreated  them  to  let  it  alone, 
but  they  declared  there  was  no  danger,  and  they 
would  evidently  have  been  desperately  disap- 
pointed of  their  fun  if  he  had  insisted. 

They  untied  me  to  give  more  rope,  and  then 
Desailloud  lowered  himself  (Payot,  Mr.  S.,  and  I 
holding  the  rope),  and  we  roaring  at  him  not  to 
go,  he  only  laughing  in  return  out  of  the  depths, 
and  shouting  that  he  could  see  the  spectacles  and 
meant  to  have  them  !  There  was  luckily  just  rope 
enough  for  him  to  reach  them,  and  up  he  came, 
like  a  monkey,  with  the  spectacles  safe  between 
his  teeth,  all  over  snow. 

They  would  not  untie  us  when  we  got  to  Pierre 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 3.  257 

a  l'Echelle,  because  the  snow  slopes  are  so  steep 
(though  no  more  crevasses),  which  seemed  to  me 
the  very  reason  why  we  should  not  pull  each  other 
down,  as  we  soon  proved,  especially  as  I  don't  like 
glissading  when  roped,  and  one  attempt  thereat 
resulted  in  our  all  rolling  over  each  other.  Pre- 
sently I  thought  we  were  come  to  a  sufficiently 
easy  part  to  go  carelessly,  whereupon  I  slipped, 
and  Payot  who  was  next  me  totally  lost  himself 
too,  and  we  had  just  started  a  decidedly  too  rapid 
spin  down  a  very  steep  incline,  when  instantane- 
ously Mr.  S.  did  the  only  possible  thing  which 
could  have  stopped  all  four  of  us;  flung  himself 
right  on  his  back  with  his  heels  in  the  snow, 
the  orthodox  thing  to  do  if  only  any  one  has  the 
presence  of  mind  to  do  it.  This  checked  the  im- 
petus, and  we  quickly  recovered  our  footing. 

After  this  we  were  unroped,  which  I  greatly  pre- 
ferred, as  the  roping  is  very  hampering  to  indi- 
vidual action  on  the  snow  slopes,  though  splendidly 
safe  for  the  glaciers.  Being  free  I  managed  some 
nice  long  glissades  by  myself.  Payot  and  Mr.  S. 
did  a  magnificent  glissade  together,  going  down 
like  a  shot  in  less  than  two  minutes  a  descent 
which  would  have  taken  perhaps  twenty  minutes 
to  get  down  any  other  way.  I  need  not  say  that 
after  these  exploits  there  was  not  a  dry  inch  on  our 
clothes  !     I  was  not  at  all  tired  on  reaching  Pierre 


258  SWISS   LETTERS. 

Pointue,  so  after  settling  the  bill  we  raced  down  to 
Chamouni  in  considerably  less  than  regulation 
time,  owing  to  scampers  and  short  cuts,  as  we  were 
anxious  to  give  Mrs.  S.  a  pleasant  surprise  by 
being  back  much  sooner  than  expected.  It  was 
very  bright  and  hot,  and  we  could  never  have  done 
half  the  walking  in  the  valley  that  we  did  on  the 
mountains.  We  found  we  were  not  expected  till 
five  or  six  o'clock,  so  as  we  marched  in  before 
three  the  final  salute  was  not  ready,  but  our 
arrival  was  soon  known,  and  the  little  cannon  were 
blazing  away  again  !  About  half  a  mile  from  Cha- 
mouni our  guides  passed  their  home  and  stopped 
for  a  minute;  they  might  as  well  have  left  the 
heavy  rope  and  ice  axes  as  carry  them  to  Cha- 
mouni and  back  again  in  the  heat,  but  oh  dear  no, 
they  could  not  possibly  enter  Chamouni  without 
them,  heat  and  weight  being  no  consideration  com- 
pared with  getting  the  outward  and  visible  credit 
of  "la  premiere  ascension  de  1873"!  So  they 
shouldered  it  all  again,  and  marched  in  in  style. 
Our  reception  was  most  amusing;  even  the 
waiters  who  are  an  unusually  glum  set  were  beam- 
ing, and  Mr.  S.  was  rushed  at  by  the  master  of  the 
hotel  and  the  secretary  of  the  Journal  de  Geneve, 
all  as  frantic  as  if  we  had  returned  from  the  moon 
itself.  Refusals  availed  nought  and  they  positively 
insisted  on  treating  us  to  champagne,  which'was 


LETTERS    IN  1873.  259 

taken  with  the  usual  foreign  glass-clinking  and 
ecstatic  congratulations.  Then  came  an  humble 
request,  would  we  write  just  a  little  article  for  the 
Journal  de  Geneve,  to  appear  on  Tuesday?  it  would 
be  such  a  favor,  such  a  benefit  {i.e.  to  the  Hotel 
Royal),  and  so  forth;  and  if  we  preferred  writing 
in  English,  monsieur  le  secretaire  would  speedily 
put  it  into  French.  So  when  I  let  them  know  I 
was  not  new  at  that  trade,  and  graciously  acceded, 
they  congratulated  themselves  with  fresh  enthu- 
siasm !  I  don't  know  when  I  ever  laughed  more, 
the  whole  concern  was  so  funny  and  utterly  novel. 
I  had  not  a  notion  the  ascent  to  the  Grands  Mulets 
was  made  such  a  fuss  about,  but  the  eclat  was 
owing  to  its  being  the,  first  ascent  of  the  season, 
which  had  never  before  happened  to  be  done  by 
a  lady. 

But  now  for  Mrs.  S.,  who  decidedly  won  her 
spurs  while  we  won  ours.  To  Mr.  S.'s  consterna- 
tion she  was  out  with  E.  and  A.  and  the  Bicker- 
dikes,  and  no  one  gave  the  same  version  of  her 
departure,  the  received  one  being  that  she  had 
gone  on  a  mule  to  meet  us  after  being  informed 
by  the  telescope  that  our  descent  had  commenced. 
So  we  sent  after  her,  and  at  last  when  we  were 
becoming  really  anxious  the  party  drove  into 
Chamouni  at  6.30. 

She  was  much  disappointed  and  vexed  at  not 


260  SWISS   LETTERS. 

being  in  time  to  receive  Mr.  S.  She  thought  the 
expedition  to  La  Flegere  the  B.'s  asked  her  to 
take  would  only  be  for  two  hours.  Up  they  toiled 
in  the  heat,  mile  after  mile  of  those  horrid  zigzags; 
then  the  saddle  slipped  a  little  on  one  side,  and  the 
muleteer  gave  Mrs.  S.  such  a  counteracting  push 
as  nearly  sent  her  over  on  the  other,  whereupon, 
she  dismounted  and  actually  climbed  all  the  rest 
of  the  way  on  foot.  Then  little  E.  would  not 
ride,  and  they  chartered  a  big  boy  who  carried 
her  two  miles  on  his  back  !  At  last  they  reached 
the  top,  6,500  feet  !  The  report  of  our  "  ascen- 
sion "  had  reached  La  Flegere,  and  the  hostess 
was  ready  to  embrace  Mrs.  S.  on  finding  that 
she  was  wife  of  one  of  the  voyageurs,"  the 
whole  neighborhood  seems  to  have  been  on  the 
look  out  in  a  state  of  excitement.  Presently  up 
dashes  E.'s  boy:  "Les  voyageurs  sont  arrives 
a  Chamouni  ! "  dancing  and  capering  as  if  he 
would  like  to  fly  down  to  meet  "les  voyageurs." 
Pleasing  intelligence  for  poor  Mrs.  S.,  on  the  top 
of  La  Flegere  !  So  down  she  started  full  speed 
the  four  or  five  miles  on  foot,  as  it  is  so  steep 
for  riding  down,  and  sent  the  aforesaid  boy  on  to 
get  a  carriage  to  meet  them  at  the  bottom.  So 
all  ended  well,  and  we  had  a  lively  table  d'hote  at 
seven  o'clock,  as  you  may  suppose,  except  that  I 
was  cross  at  having  allowed  myself  to  be  be- 


LETTERS   IN  1873.  26j 

guiled  into  writing  for  the  Geneva  paper  instead 
of  taking  a  siesta  as  I  intended. 

They  tell  me  I  am  fully  equal  to  doing  Mont 
Blanc  easily.  But  now  for  a  piece  of  wisdom:  I 
really  think  it  would  not  be  worth  while  to  do  it, 
considering  the  great  expense  and  the  danger  of 
being  overtaken  by  bad  weather,  however  delight- 
ful if  continuously  fine.  We  have  had  all  the  most 
interesting  sights  and  doings  of  the  ascent,  and 
the  only  gain  would  be  the  being  able  to  say  we 
had  done  it. 

Though  not  the  faintest  quiver  of  nervousness 
once  crossed  me  to  spoil  the  enjoyment,  yet  it 
certainly  does  not  come  within  the  promise  I  made 
in  1871  to  attempt  "nothing  dangerous,"  for  there 
is  a  certain  amount  of  danger  both  from  crevasses 
and  avalanches  which  no  surefootedness  or  pre- 
caution could  entirely  neutralize.  Neither  Mr.  S. 
nor  I  thought  of  danger  till  we  were  actually  up 
there,  so  I  went  with  a  clear  conscience,  which 
would  not  be  if  I  were  to  go  a  second  time,  and 
I  could  not  have  the  entire  absence  of  fear  and 
absolute  trust  in  God's  keeping  which  I  had  this 
time.  Even  as  a  matter  of  muscle  and  agility  I 
would  not  recommend  it  to  any  but  gentlemen, 
and  by  no  means  to  all  of  those;  it  wants  a  light, 
quick  walker,  good  lungs,  steady  head  and  sure 
foot,  and  light  weight  and  step  for  crossing  the 


262  SWISS   LETTERS. 

crevasses.  The  two  days'  splendid  weather  seemed 
just  on  purpose  for  us,  it  has  changed  again  and 
been  stormy  all  day. 

Sunday  was  very  pleasant,  the  number  of  English 
nearly  double  that  of  last  Sunday.  Mr.  S.  read' 
prayers  morning  and  afternoon.  I  played  both 
times,  and  we  had  nice  hymns  and  chants.  At 
table  d'hote  we  met  a  Mr.  Burns  and  his  family 
who  knew  dear  papa  at  Dunoon. 

Our  return  is  uncertain;  probably  we  shall  stay 
a  Sunday  at  Boulogne,  and  perhaps  get  two  or 
three  days'  sea  bathing  as  a  break  in  the  long 
journey,  and  a  let  down  out  of  the  mountain  air. 
I  cannot  give  any  certain  address  at  all  ! 


No.   VII. 


Chamonix.  (How  I  hate  spelling  it  French 
fashion  !  I  never  can  reconcile  my  mind 
to  considering  it  France.)     June  25. 

Weather  continues  to  be  "  variable,"  so  Mon- 
day we- could  do  nothing,  violent  storms  all  day; 
once  we  saw  a  cloud  come  down  into  the  valley 
two  or  three  miles  off,  and  then  literally  roll 
along  the  very  ground  as  if  it  would  swallow  us 
up;  and  when  it  did  reach  the  village,  the  pour 
beat  any  mountain  storm  I  ever  saw. 

Tuesday  we  speculated  would  be  fine,  so  Mr.  S. 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 3-  263 

and  I  started  at  4.15  for  the  Col  de  Balm.  We 
had  a  lovely  walk  along  the  valley  to  Argentiere 
(six  miles).  We  went  on  two  miles  more  to  La 
Tour,  the  highest  village  of  the  valley,  nearly 
five  thousand  feet  above  sea  level;  and  here  I 
decided  to  stay,  while  Mr.  S.  went  on  to  the  top, 
four  miles  farther.  As  usual,  the  lovely  morning 
failed,  and  clouds  came  down;  and  poor  Mr.  S. 
got  no  view  at  all,  and  had  his  tough  climb  all 
for  nothing,  up  a  path  not  yet  "  arrange  pour  la 
saison,"  which  means  any  amount  of  landslips  and 
mud  and  snow  and  torrents  and  boulders  to  be 
walked  over. 

We  got  back  to  Chamouni  at  1.30;  the  excur- 
sion is  reckoned  as  nine  hours'  walking,  five  up 
and  four  down.  So  Mr.  S.  walked  twenty-four 
miles,  and  I  only  about  sixteen  ! 

I  never  saw  such  an  awful  place  for  swindle 
without  redress !  All  the  hotels  belong  to  a 
"  Societe  Anonyme,"  so  there  is  no  competition 
and  no  maitre  d  hotel,  whose  personal  interest  it  is 
to  protect  and  please  his  guests.  I  have  actually 
made  them  reduce  our  bill  by  nearly  eighty  francs ; 
all  such  clear  overcharges  that  they  could  not 
maintain  them.  One  item  beat  anything  I  ever 
heard  of,  "a  pencil,  fifty  centimes  !"  {i.e.  half  a 
franc)  which  turned  out  to  be  that  a  waiter  had 
lent  Mr.  S.  a  pencil  for  half  a  minute  to  write  a 


264  SWISS   LETTERS. 

message  with,  the  pencil  not  having  been  even 
asked  for  and  returned  on  the  spot  !  The  only- 
thing  they  don't  swindle  in  is  the  guides  and 
'mules,  which  are  all  tariff,  and  though  high  are 
not  utterly  unreasonable,  and  are  always  exact. 

Ann  gives  a  sad  report  of  the  servants'  table. 
I  am  glad  she  is  a  Young  Women's  Christian 
Association  member,  and  she  seems  to  have  been 
brave  and  true  to  her  colors.  Of  all  the  valets 
and  ladies'  maids  she  was  the  only  one  in  Cha- 
mouni  (for  all  the  hotels  dine  together  at  pre- 
sent) who  went  to  church,  except  one  apparently 
well  disposed  man,  who  sided  with  her  and  spoke 
up  for  religion. 

Hotel  du  Pavillon.     Saturday  Evening. 

I  thought  I  should  not  have  much  to  tell  you, 
but  we  have  had  quite  an  adventure  of  a  sort  new 
to  me  !  I  wrote  so  far,  early  a.m.  on  Wednesday. 
As  we  wished  to  be  at  Geneva  by  Thursday  even- 
ing, we  ought  either  to  have  gone  down  direct  on 
Thursday  morning,  or  started  not  later  than  nine 
a.m.  on  Wednesday,  to  go  by  Tete  Noire,  which 
is  nine  hours.  Although  a  little  carriage  road  is 
open  all  the  way,  the  ups  and  downs,  etc.,  are  so 
great  that  they  allow  just  the  same  time  as  for 
foot  or  mule  passengers. 

We  did  not  start  till  12.30,  and  soon  found  that 


LETTERS   IN   iS/J.  265 

most  of  the  way  the  carriage  had  to  go  even 
slower  than  we  could  walk !  and  we  walked  a 
good  deal.  I  am  not  given  to  nervousness,  but 
really  in  several  places  I  was  more  easy  in  my 
mind  out  of  the  carriage  than  in;  it  always  seems 
to  me  the  most  dangerous  mode  of  progression, 
where  a  narrow  road  has  only  a  slight  and  occa- 
sional fence  of  two  fir  poles,  and  there  are  torrents 
and  real  precipices  below,  especially  in  early 
summer  when  the  edges  often  give  way  from  the 
rains.  Though  not  a  bright  day,  it  was  tolerable 
till  about  half-past  six  in  the  evening,  by  which 
time  we  ought  to  have  been  safely  housed  at 
Vernayaz,  instead  of  beginning  the  ascent  of  the 
Forclaz  just  beyond  the  Tete  Noire  hotel,  which 
we  did  not  leave  till  six. 

For  information  of  Maria,  etc.,  I  will  just  explain 
that  the  Tete  Noire  is  a  magnificent  high  level 
valley  or  gorge,  winding  for  four  or  five  hours  at  a 
good  height  among  mountains,  as  picturesque  a 
combination  of  heights  and  depths,  rocks,  torrents, 
cascades,  pine  trees,  ferns,  flowers,  and  precipices 
as  exists  anywhere.  The  upper  end  consists  of  an 
hour's  stiff  pull  up  to  the  Col  de  Forclaz,  on 
gaining  which  you  look  down  over  the  other  side 
into  the  Rhone  valley,  deep  below,  reached  by  a 
rough  zigzaging  road  of  about  seven  miles  down. 

So  we  began  the  descent  just  as  it  was  beginning 


266  SWISS   LETTERS. 

to  get  dark  !  It  reminded  me  of  Astathes  in  that 
pretty  little  allegory,  "The  Spring  Morning,"  who 
set  out  late  on  his  journey  and  came  in  for  storms 
and  wild  beasts,  where  Agape  the  early  little 
traveller  passed  safely.  After  about  ten  minutes, 
in  coming  down  a  very  steep  bit,  something  went 
bang.  The  driver  got  out,  pottered  in  the  wet,  and 
then  "Faut  descendre ! "  was  his  laconic  informa- 
tion. So  "  descendre  "  we  all  did,  in  all  the  drench, 
and  lo  !  the  drag  had  broken,  right  in  two.  So  he 
turned  us  all  out,  and  we  had  to  trudge  seven 
miles  down  in  the  deepening  dark ! 

Happily  the  rain  ceased  in  a  short  time,  or 
rather  we  came  down  out  of  the  cloud,  so  it 
was  only  a  question  of  tramp.  It  was  pretty 
well  at  first,  but  as  it  got  to  nine  and  ten  and 
eleven  o'clock  it  was  no  trifle,  and  a  sprained 
ankle  would  have  been  no  marvel.  We  had  to 
pick  step  after  step  with  the  utmost  caution, 
among  big  stones  and  sudden  dips  and  occasional 
streams,  when  we  could  trace  anything;  but  when 
we  passed  under  trees,  which  are  luxuriant  for  the 
last  mile  or  two,  it  was  absolutely  pitch  dark,  and 
we  could  only  guide  by  each  other's  voices,  or  the 
jingle  of  the  horse  bells  before  us,  or  the  rush  of  a 
little  watercourse  beside  us.  At  last  we  got  to  the 
bottom,  and  were  allowed  to  get  into  the  carriage. 
I  should  say  that  I  picked  up  two  or  three  glow- 


LETTERS   IN   iS/J.  267 

worms,  which  were  a  material  assistance  in  guid- 
ing those  who  walked  behind  me  !  By  that  time 
the  wind  had  risen,  and  resisted  all  attempts  to 
get  a  light  while  the  re-harnessing  took  place. 
The  arrangement  is,  one  strong  horse  that  goes 
all  the  way,  and  a  mule  that  is  tied  on  behind  for 
descents,  and  brought  to  the  fore  for  levels  and 
ascents,  running  by  the  side  of  the  shafts  with 
two  or  three  ropes  or  straps,  which  broke  three 
or  four  times. 

After  we  had  our  mule  tied  on  we  had  to  go 
nearly  a  mile  at  a  slow  walking  pace,  "  the  police 
forbid  any  trotting  through  Martigny  !  "  through 
wide  roads  and  dead  level.  At  last  we  got  fairly 
out  on  the  Vernayaz  road,  anticipating  a  good 
trot,  when  all  at  once  a  perfect  hurricane  came 
tearing  down  the  lower  Rhone  valley  to  meet  us, 
right  in  our  teeth;  it  not  only  blew  the  clouds 
away,  but  bid  fair  to  blow  the  stars  out,  and  had 
it  come  broadside  I  believe  it  must  have  blown 
the  vehicle  over.  And  this  lasted  till  some  little 
time  after  midnight,  when  the  great  white  new 
hotel  of  the  Gorge  du  Trient  loomed  up  ghostly 
and  lightless  under  the  rocks. 

We  were  glad  enough  to  see  it,  and  soon  rang 
the  natives  up,  who  were  singularly  amiable  con- 
sidering their  sleepiness,  stumbling  down  in  va- 
rious  stages  of  costume   and  nightcap.     Mrs.  S. 


268  SWISS   LETTERS. 

was  very  tired  next  morning,  but  no  one  else  was 
a  whit  the  worse,  and  Emily  got  in  to  Geneva  the 
next  night  as  lively  as  ever.  In  the  morning  we 
went  up  the  Gorge  du  Trient,  a  colossal  fissure 
from  six  hundred  to  one  thousand  feet  deep,  and 
often  not  six  feet  across,  the  only  access  being  by 
a  wooden  gallery  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long,  hung 
on  iron  cramps  and  supports  above  the  roaring 
torrent,  which  fills  up  the  bottom  of  the  cleft, 
with  no  shore  whatever,  a  narrow  deep  volume 
of  mighty  waters. 

At  the  hotel  they  had  a  beautiful  young  St. 
Bernard,  with  her  two  splendid  little  puppies,  a 
fortnight  old.  Mr.  S.  wants  a  dog  badly  as 
house-dog,  and  Emily  wanted  a  puppy,  and  it 
seemed  cruel  to  take  such  a  little  one  away  from 
the  mother;  so,  as  the  people  came  to  terms,  he 
bought  the  whole  family !  The  mother,  Vinesse, 
is  a  beauty,  with  a  grand  head  and  gentle  wistful 
expression,  a  dog  that  would  die  for  you.  The 
little  fellows  are  sleek  rotundities  with  big  paws, 
supposed  to  be  going  to  be  very  superb  specimens. 
I  am  delighted  with  them  of  course. 


[The  last  letter  of  this  series  is  missing]. 


VIII. 

JULY   ON   THE  MOUNTAINS. 

There  is  sultry  gloom  on  the  mountain  brow 

And  a  sultry  glow  beneath; 
Oh  for  a  breeze  from  the  western  sea, 
Soft  and  reviving,  sweet  and  free, 
Over  the  shadowless  hill  and  lea, 

Over  the  barren  heath  ! 

There  are  clouds  and  darkness  around  God's  ways, 
And  the  noon  of  life  grows  hot; 

And  though  His  faithfulness  standeth  fast 

As  the  mighty  mountains,  a  shroud  is  cast 

Over  its  glory,  solemn  and  vast, 

Veiling,  but  changing  it  not. 

Send  a  sweet  breeze  from  Thy  sea,  O  Lord, 

From  Thy  deep,  deep  sea  of  love; 
Though  it  lift  not  the  veil  from  the  cloudy  height, 
Let  the  brow  grow  cool  and  the  footsteps  light, 
As  it  comes  with  holy  and  soothing  might, 
Like  the  wing  of  a  snowy  dove. 


IX. 

THREE   LETTERS, 

FROM  A   SERIES  OF   TWELVE)    TO  MRS.  HAVER  GAL  IN  1874, 
DURING  A    TOUR   CHIEFLY  WITH  CONSTANCE  S.   C. 


The  Inn  on  the  Faulhorn. 
(ah  July,  1874. 

" Sunset  on  the  Faulhorn!"  All  day  there  had 
been  strange  rifts  in  the  clouds,  and  sudden  pic- 
tures of  peaks  or  of  abysses  framed  in  white  and 
grey;  but  towards  seven  o'clock  the  wind  rose, 
and  there  was  a  grand  outpour  of  color  upon 
everything,  sky,  clouds,  and  mountains. 

Imagine  yourself  midway  between  heaven  and 
earth,  the  sharp  point  of  rock  on  which  we  stood 
hardly  seeming  more  of  earth  than  if  we  had  been 
in  a  balloon,  the  whole  space  around,  above,  and 
below  filled  with  wild,  weird,  spectral  clouds, 
driving  and  whirling  in  incessant  change  and  with 
tremendous  rapidity;  horizon  none,  but  every  part 
of  where  horizon  should  be,  crowded  with  un- 
imaginable shapes  of  unimagined  colors,  with 
rifts  of  every  shade  of  blue,  from  indigo  to  pearl, 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 4.  27 J 

and  burning  with  every  tint  of  fire,  from  gold  to 
intensest  red;  shafts  of  keen  light  shot  down  into 
abysses  of  purple  thousands  of  feet  below,  enor- 
mous surging  masses  of  grey  hurled  up  from 
beneath,  and  changing  in  an  instant  to  glorified 
brightness  of  fire  as  they  seemed  on  the  point  of 
swallowing  up  the  shining  masses  above  them; 
then,  all  in  an  instant,  a  wild  grey  shroud  flung 
over  us,  as  swiftly  passing  and  leaving  us  in  a 
blaze  of  sunshine;  then  a  bursting  open  of  the 
very  heavens,  and  a  vision  of  what  might  be 
celestial  heights,  pure  and  still  and  shining,  high 
above  it  all;  then,  an  instantaneous  cleft  in  an- 
other wild  cloud,  and  a  revelation  of  a  perfect 
paradise  of  golden  and  rosy  slopes  and  summits; 
then,  quick  gleams  of  white  peaks  through  veilings 
and  unveilings  of  flying  semi-transparent  clouds; 
then,  as  quickly  as  the  eye  could  follow,  a  rim  of 
dazzling  light  running  round  the  edges  of  a  black 
castle  of  cloud,  and  flaming  windows  suddenly 
pierced  in  it;  oh,  mother  dear,  I  might  go  on  for 
sheets,  for  it  was  never  twice  the  same,  nor  any 
single  minute  the  same,  in  any  one  direction. 
At  one  juncture  a  cloud  stood  still,  apparently 
about  two  hundred  yards  off,  and  we  each  saw 
our  own  shadows  gigantically  reflected  on  it,  sur- 
rounded by  a  complete  rainbow  arch,  but  a  full 
circle  of  bright  prismatic  colors,  a  transfiguration 


272  SWISS   LETTERS. 

of  our  shadows  almost  startling,  each  moreover 
seeing  only  their  own  glorification  !  When  the 
whole  pageant,  lasting  nearly  an  hour,  was  past, 
we  sang  ''Abide  with  me,"  and  then  the  dear  old 
joyous  "  Glory  to  Thee,  my  God." 


Ormont  Dessus.     September. 

This  second  month  of  my  Swiss  journey  is 
altogether  different  from  the  first,  for  now  I  am 
making  writing  the  first  thing  instead  of  idleness. 

I  am  doing  it  quite  in  moderation,  and  taking 
plenty  of  fresh  air  as  well;  one  can  be  out  half 
the  day  and  yet  get  four  or  five  good  hours'  writing 
as  well,  under  these  circumstances,  when  there  are 
no  other  calls  whatever  upon  time  or  strength; 
and  this  combination  of  work  and  leisure  is  very 
delightful.  Besides,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  got  quite  a 
fresh  start  with  that  month's  rest;  it  seems  as  if 
nature  had  then  walked  into  my  brain  and  taken 
possession  (turning  me  out  meanwhile),  and  given 
a  kind  of  spring  cleaning  !  rubbing  up  the  fur- 
niture, and  fresh  papering  some  of  the  rooms, 
and    cleaning     the    windows  !      That     perpetual 

II  moving  on,"  which  some  so  delight  in,  does  not 
suit  me  nearly  so  well,  as  staying  in  a  place  and 
taking  it  easy.  The  weather  has  been  so  much 
colder  and  more  variable,  since   I   changed  my 


LETTERS    IN   1 87 4.  273 

tactics,  that  the  two  things  coincided  beauti- 
fully; for,  except  two  days,  it  has  been  too  cold 
the   last  fortnight   for   any  sitting  out   of  doors. 

I  don't  know  why  I  always  seem  to  shrink  from 
writing  much,  or  even  anything,  of  the  "under  the 
surface"  life  (which  is  so  much  more  than  the  "on 
the  surface"  and  the  mere  surroundings),  in  my 
circulars.  They  would  be  much  fuller  if  I  told  one 
tithe  of  the  hourly  bits  of  gentle  guidance  and 
clear  loving-kindness  which  make  the  real  enjoy- 
ment, or  of  the  perpetual  little  opportunities  of  a 
"word  for  Jesus"  which  He  seems  to  give  me,  and 
often  of  real  work  for  Him,  which  yet  seems  to 
come  so  unsought,  so  easily  and  naturally,  so 
altogether  without  any  effort,  as  to  be  not  felt  to 
be  any  working  at  all.  Now  I  will  give  you  an 
instance  of  how  He  took  me  at  my  word  the  other 
day.  It  was  one  of  the  few  warm  days,  and  I  es- 
tablished myself  with  pen  and  ink  in  a  shady 
nook  by  a  little,  steep,  downhill  torrent.  I  had 
suddenly  got  that  sort  of  strong  impulse  to  write 
on  a  certain  theme,  without  which  I  never  do  my 
best,  but  with  which  I  always  do  my  best  poems. 

The  theme  was  a  grand  one  ("The  Thoughts  of 
God");  I  had  thought  of  it  for  months,  and  never 
before  had  this  impulse  to  begin  upon  it;  though, 
once  begun,  I  expected  it  to  be  one  of  my  best 
poems.     I  spent  a  little  time  in  prayer  first,  and 


2  74  SWISS   LETTERS. 

then  the  warning  and  the  promise  in  Jeremiah 
xv.  19  came  strongly  to  my  mind:  "if  thou  take 
forth  the  precious  from  the  vile,  thou  shalt  be  as 
My  mouth."  I  felt  that  wanted  looking  into;  I 
wanted  Him  to  take  forth  the  precious  from  the 
vile  for  me,  and  to  reveal  and  purge  away,  then 
and  there,  all  the  self  and  mingled  motive  which 
would  utterly  mar  the  work  that  I  wanted  to  be 
for  His  glory.  After  that  the  question  came,  was 
I — had  He  made  me — just  as  willing  to  do  any 
little  bit  of  work  for  Him,  something  for  little 
children  or  poor  people,  simple  and  unseen,  as  this 
other  piece  of  work,  which  might  win  something 
of  man's  praise  ?  Then  I  was  intensely  happy  in 
feeling  that  I  could  tell  Him  that  I  had  no  choice 
at  all  about  it;  but  would  really  rather  do  just 
what  He  chose  for  me  to  do  whatever  it  might 
be.  However,  there  seemed  nothing  else  to  do, 
so  I  began  my  poem.  I  don't  think  I  had  written 
four  lines  when  a  laborer  with  a  scythe  came  along 
a  tiny  path  to  drink  at  the  stream  a  few  yards 
below  me.  He  did  not  see  me,  and  started  when 
I  hailed  him  and  offered  him  a  little  book.  He 
climbed  up  to  receive  it,  and  then  instead  of  de- 
parting as  I  expected,  deliberately  sat  down  on 
a  big  stone  at  my  feet,  and  commenced  turning 
over  the  leaves,  and  evidently  laying  himself  out 
to  be  talked  to.     So  here  was  clearly  a  little  call; 


LETTERS   IN   1 '8? 4.  275 

and  I  talked  to  him  for  some  time,  he  being  very 
interested  and  responsive.  Just  as  he  was  going 
to  move  off,  two  lads  of  about  fifteen  and  eighteen, 
his  sons,  came  crashing  through  the  bushes;  I 
don't  recollect  whether  the  father  beckoned  them 
or  not,  anyhow  up  they  came,  and  he  quietly  sat 
down  again,  and  they  sat  down  too,  and  seemed 
quite  as  willing  to  listen  to  the  "  old,  old  story  " 
as  he  had  been,  only  I  could  not  get  so  much  out 
of  them.  At  last  the  whole  crew  departed,  and  I 
was  just  collecting  my  thoughts  and  reviving  the 
aforesaid  "  impulse,"  when  in  about  ten  minutes 
the  younger  lad  reappeared,  with  his  sister,  a  girl 
of  about  seventeen.  They  did  not  say  a  word, 
but  scrambled  straight  up  to  me,  and,  seating 
themselves  at  my  feet,  looked  up  into  my  face, 
saying  by  their  look  as  plain  as  any  words, 
"  Please  talk  to  us  !  "  What  could  one  do  but  ac- 
cede ?  and  they  stayed  at  least  another  half  hour, 
so  quiet  and  interested  that  one  could  not  but 
hope  the  seed  was  falling  on  "good  ground."  The 
girl,  Felicie,  was  more  communicative  than  the 
lads,  very  simple,  but  intelligent.  By  the  time 
they  departed  a  good  part  of  the  morning  was 
gone,  and  the  "impulse"  too!  but  I  enjoyed  the 
morning  probably  twice  as  much  as  if  I  had  done 
a  good  piece  of  my  poem;  and  it  seemed  so  clear 
that  the  Master  had  taken  me  at  my  word,  and 


276  SWISS  LETTERS. 

come  and  given  me  this  to  do  for  Him  among  His 
**  little  ones,"  and  that  He  was  there  hearing  and 
answering  and  accepting  me,  that  it  was  worth 
any  amount  of  poem-power. 

However,  next  day  the  "  impulse"  came  again, 
which  is  by  no  means  always  the  case  when  once 
interrupted;  and  once  fairly  started,  I  have  worked 
out  what  I  think  is  perhaps  the  best  poem  I  ever 
wrote,  so  far  as  I  can  judge. 

But  this  is  only  one  of  constant  instances  which 
I  could  tell.  I  do  so  feel  that  every  hour  is  dis- 
tinctly and  definitely  guided  by  Him.  I  have 
taken  Him  at  His  word  in  everything,  and  He 
takes  me  at  my  word  in  everything.  Oh,  I  can 
say  now  that  Jesus  is  "to  me  a  living,  bright 
Reality,"  and  that  He  really  and  truly  is  "  more 
dear,  more  intimately  nigh,  than  e'en  the  sweetest 
earthly  tie."  No  friendship  could  be  what  I  find 
His  to  be.  I  have  more  now  than  a  few  months 
ago,  even  though  I  was  so  happy  then;  for  the 
joy  of  giving  myself,  and  my  will,  and  my  all  to 
Him  seems  as  if  it  were  succeeded,  and  even 
superseded,  by  the  deeper  joy  of  a  conscious 
certainty  that  He  has  taken  all  that  He  led  me  to 
give;  and  "I  am  persuaded  that  He  is  able  to 
keep  that  which  I  have  committed  unto  Him  ": 
so,  having  entrusted  my  very  trust  to  Him,  I  look 
forward  ever  so  happily  to  the  future  (z/ there  be 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 4.  277 

yet  much  of  earthly  future  for  me)  as  "one  vista 
of  brightness  and  blessedness."  Only  I  do  so  want 
everybody  to  "  taste  and  see."  Yesterday  I  some- 
how came  to  a  good  full  stop  in  my  writing  much 
earlier  than  I  expected,  and  asked  what  He  would 
have  me  do  next,  go  on,  or  go  out  at  once  ?  Just 
then  a  young  lady  came  in;  "Had  I  just  a  few 
minutes  to  spare?"  So  I  went  out  with  her  at 
once.  She  had  overheard  a  short  chat  I  had  had 
some  days  ago  with  another,  didn't  know  what, 
but  it  had  set  her  longing  for  something  more  than 
she  had  got.  She  had  started  out  for  a  walk  alone, 
thinking  and  praying,  and  the  thought  came  to 
her  to  come  straight  to  me,  which  she  seemed  to 
think  an  unaccountably  bold  step.  Well,  God 
seemed  to  give  me  exactly  the  right  message  for 
her,  just  as  with  Miss  M.  last  week,  the  two  cases 
starting  from  a  very  different  level  but  the  result 
the  same,  a  real  turning  point.  Don't  conclude, 
however,  from  these  that  I  am  always  seeing 
results,  because  I  am  not:  but  that  I  am  entirely 
content  about,  just  as  He  chooses  it  to  be. 

It  has  occurred  to  me  that,  as  I  profess  to  be 
"  writing,"  you  will  expect  a  new  book  as  the 
result,  and  will  be  disappointed;  so  I  tell  you 
simply  what  I  have  written,  and  what  I  am  going 
to  write. 

"Our  Swiss  Guide."    Article  for  Sunday  Maga- 


278  SWISS   LETTERS. 

zine,  on  the  spiritual  analogies  in  all  sorts  of  lit- 
tle details  of  mountaineering. 

"  For  Chanty."  Song  for  Hutchings  and 
Romer. 

"  Enough."     Short  sacred  poem. 

"How  much  for  Jesus?"  A  sort  of  little  true 
story  for  children;  for  an  American  edition.* 

"True  Hearted."  New  Year's  Address  (in 
verse)  for  Young  Women's  Christian  Association, 
for  January  1875. 

"  Tiny  Tokens."    A  small  poem  for  Good  Words. 

"Precious  Things."     A  poem. 

"  A  Suggestion."    Short  paper  for  Home  Words. 

"The  Precious  Blood  of  Jesus."     A  hymn. 

"The  Thoughts  of  God."     The  aforesaid  poem. 

"  Shining  for  Jesus."  Verses  addressed  to  my 
nieces  and  nephews  at  Winterdyne. 

"New  Year's  Wishes,"  by  Caswell's  request,  for 
a  very  pretty  card. 

These  are  all  written,  and  copied,  and  done  with. 
Next  week  (d.V.)  I  set  about  what  I  have  long 
wanted  to  do:  "Little  Pillows,"  thirty-one  short 
papers  as  a  little  book  for  children  of,  say,  twelve 
years  old;  a  short,  easily  recollected  text,  to  go  to 
sleep  upon  for  each  night  of  the  month,  with  a 

*  This  manuscript  we  have  no  clue  to;  any  information  concerning 
it  would  be  acceptable. 


LETTERS    IN   1874.  279 

page  or  two  of  simple  practical  thoughts  about  it, 
such  as  a  little  girl  might  read  every  night  while 
having  her  hair  brushed.  I  think  this  will  take 
me  about  a  fortnight  to  write  and  arrange  for 
press;  adding  probably  a  verse  or  two  of  a  hymn 
at  the  end  of  each  of  the  little  papers.  There 
are  lots  of  little  monthly  morning  and  evening 
books  for  grown  up  people,  but  I  don't  know 
of  one  for  children  except  those  containing  only 
texts.  I  dare  say  I  shall  get  in  somehow  three 
other  little  poems  that  want  writing  (being  on 
the  simmer):  "The  Splendor  of  God's  Will,"  "The 
Good  Master,"  and  (don't  be  startled  at  the  tran- 
sition) "Playthings";  also  "Johann  von  Allmen," 
a  little  article  for  the  Dayspring.  I  can  clear  off 
things  easily  here,  especially  through  not  having 
so  many  letters.  If  I  could  manage  three  months 
every  year  in  a  Swiss  or  Welsh  valley,  I  should 
keep  my  printer  going. 


En  route.     September  29,   1 874. 

I  don't  know  whether  there  will  be  enough  of 
ir'-.erest  for  a  final  circular,  but  when  I  am  out  I 
n«~ver  feel  inclined  to  do  anything  but  write  home. 
A  ;  I  did  not  know  your  address,  I  had  to  write  my 
l^Jt  to  Maria,  at  any  rate  part  of  my  long  letter  to 
h_r  was  to  do  duty  as  circular. 


280  SWISS   LETTERS. 

I  was  nearly  if  not  quite  "the  last  rose  of  sum- 
mer" at  Ormont  Dessus,  the  hotel  shuts  up  on 
October  I.  But  the  last  week  was  the  most  perfect 
weather  possible,  and,  without  being  unpleasantly 
hot,  was  warm  enough  for  sitting  out  not  merely  in 
the  sunshine  but  in  the  moonlight.  My  last  day, 
Sunday,  was  one  of  the  most  exquisite  days  imag- 
inable, brilliantly  clear,  the  autumn  tints  throwing 
in  touches  of  crimson  and  gold  in  splendid  con- 
trast to  the  pine  woods;  and,  what  is  so  rare  in 
Switzerland,  the  noon  and  afternoon  were  as  glow- 
ing as  the  morning,  everything  vivid  all  day. 

At  the  little  French  service  I  soon  saw  we  had 
"somebody"  in  the  pulpit,  and  it  was  M.  de  Pres- 
sense,  who  is,  I  have  been  told,  one  of  the  first 
French  orators.  His  sermon  was  both  eloquent 
and  good.  Madame  de  Pressense,  the  well  known 
writer,  was  almost  close  to  me,  a  sweet  and  hand- 
some-looking elderly  lady.  Their  daughter  has 
married  M.  Bernus,  the  very  charming  young 
pastor  of  the  Eglise  Libre  at  Ormont  Dessus,  a 
curious  change  for  this  rather  elegant  and  dis- 
tinguee  looking  Parisienne  to  settle  down  in  little 
wooden  rooms  over  a  little  wooden  chapel  in  this 
out  of  the  way  valley !  M.  Bernus  is  cousin  to 
Helen  Trench  that  was  !  I  found  this  out  when  I 
went  to  get  books  at  the  Church  Library.  The 
people  sing  beautifully;  it  was  a  downright  treat, 


LETTERS   IN  1 87 4.  281 

in  German  choral  style  as  to  music,  slow  rich 
harmonies  that  bear  dwelling  on;  one  tune  was 
Cassel,  No.  190  in  '•  Havergal's  Psalmody."  It 
was  such  sweet  singing,  every  one  keeping  to 
cres.  and  dim.,  neither  instrument  nor  apparently 
any  stated  choir,  but  all  the  parts  correctly  sung 
by  the  peasant  congregation. 

I  have  finished  not  only  "  Little  Pillows,"  but 
a  companion  to  it  for  morning  use,  "  Morning 
Bells,"  both  manuscripts  are  ready  for  the  press. 
I  do  not  think  it  is  nearly  so  easy  to  write  for 
children  as  for  adults;  constantly  I  refrained  from 
what  I  would  most  like  to  say  about  the  texts 
I  had  chosen,  because  it  would  not  be  simple 
enough  for  the  little  ones.  I  have  purposely 
avoided  any  stories  or  anecdotes,  lest  children 
should  skim  the  book  through  in  search  of  them, 
instead  of  reading  them  morning  and  night  stead- 
ily; at  least  I  know  that  is  what  I  should  have 
done.  I  do  so  hope  these  books  will  be  really 
helpful  to  some  of  Christ's  little  ones. 

On  Monday  morning  I  left  Ormont  Dessus  at 
eight  on  foot,  sending  my  bag  "  by  post."  By  the 
bye,  the  oddest  instance  of  the  Swiss  way  of  send- 
ing all  things  by  post  was  when  one  day  Madame 
Treina  apologized  for  giving  me  only  chicken  for 
dinner  "  because  the  beef  had  not  come  by  post!" 


282  SWISS   LETTERS. 

Instead  of  going  direct  to  Montreux  by  diligence 
and  rail,  I  went  for  a  three  days'  walking  tour. 
Please,  nobody  is  to  be  shocked  at  this,  because  I 
quite  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  not  in- 
correct at  all,  and  I  found  other  ladies  doing  it. 
Besides  who  is  any  the  wiser  ?  If  one  is  seen 
marching  alone,  one  may  have  friends  five  minutes 
before  or  behind  for  aught  any  one  knows!  I  have 
really  had  a  good  spell  at  writing,  and  I  thought 
a  three  days'  march  would  be  a  good  thing  to 
finish  up  with.  It  was  a  nice  morning,  and  I 
walked  till  nearly  twelve,  and  then  ''camped" 
till  three  in  a  mossy  nook  by  a  little  stream, 
mended  gloves,  did  my  accounts,  watched  the 
water,  and  so  forth.  Then  I  walked  on  again  and 
got  to  the  little  town  of  Saanen  at  five. 

After  crossing  the  Col  de  Pillon,  an  easy  two 
hours  pass  out  of  the  Ormonts  valley  into  the 
Saanen-thal,  it  was  all  road,  smooth  and  level, 
nothing  exciting,  but  just  a  very  quietly  pretty 
valley,  what  one  would  call  "peaceful";  the  Or- 
monts always  suggested  the  French  term  " riante" 
to  me.  The  whole  way  was  musical  with  these 
pretty  cow  bells,  as  most  of  the  herds  have  been 
brought  down  from  the  high  alps,  and  instead  of 
being  from  one  hundred  to  five  hundred  large, 
they  are  distributed  among  their  owners  for  the 
winter.     A  herd  on  the  mountains  may  belong  to 


LETTERS   IN  1874.  2  S3 

thirty  or  forty  different  people.  The  last  fort- 
night my  mountain  rambles  have  been  all  the 
more  enjoyable  for  the  descent  of  the  "  betail " 
from  the  "  high  alps,"  so  that  they  were  perfectly 
undisturbed.  The  high  pastures  or  "  alps,"  for 
the  meaning  is  the  same,  where  the  cows  are  in 
summer  range  from  5,500  to  7,500  feet;  then  in 
September  they  come  down  to  the  "middle  alps," 
where  hay  has  already  been  twice  made;  then  in 
October  they  come  down  to  the  valleys,  where 
generally  there  have  been  three  crops  of  hay.  It 
is  very  systematic,  and  a  whole  district  acts  simul- 
taneously in  these  pastoral  arrangements.  The 
middle  alps  are  enclosed  with  rough  fencing,  so  I 
don't  mind  the  beasts  there;  it  is  when  two  hun- 
dred or  three  hundred  creatures  are  loose  on  the 
high  alps,  with  no  fences  or  retreat  whatever, 
that  I  object  to  meet  them. 

This  Saanen-thal  is  more  one's  ideal  of  rural 
Swiss  life  than  almost  anything  I  have  seen;  no 
pensions,  or  any  signs  of  foreign  tourists,  but  pure 
aboriginal.  No  one  would  believe  who  has  not 
seen  it,  the  difference  between  the  Protestant 
and  Romanist  valleys.  Here  in  the  Saanen-thal 
the  chalets  are  beautiful,  as  spruce  and  pretty  as 
the  carved  things  one  sees,  and  look  roomy  and 
comfortable,  averaging  about  fifteen  windows  in 
front !     Nice  little  gardens  are  quite  the  rule,  and 


284  SWISS   LETTERS. 

in  Ebuit,  a  small  village,  I  saw  several  quite  up  to 
the  mark  of  a  "First  Prize"  at  a  Perry  Barr  flower 
show,  which  is  saying  a  great  deal;  dahlias  seem 
the  pet  flower  just  now.  One  never  sees  any 
"gentlemen's  houses";  the  land  is  all  in  small 
properties,  and  there  is  no  Swiss  nobility.  The 
only  things  answering  to  our  country  houses  are 
quite  near  the  larger  towns.  A  Swiss  country 
pastor's  life  must  be  peculiarly  isolated,  often  a 
day's  journey  from  any  one  except  peasants  and 
peasant  farmers. 

At  Saanen  I  put  up  at  a  queer  old-fashioned 
inn,  very  comfortable  and  very  cheap,  with  a  cap- 
ital piano,  which  was  quite  a  treat,  as  it  is  a  good 
while  since  I  have  even  seen  one.  Tuesday  morn- 
ing was  gloomy  and  suspicious,  so  I  started  at  a 
quarter  past  seven,  but  it  did  not  rain  till  the  af- 
ternoon. I  reached  Chateau  D'Oex  by  half-past 
nine,  and  was  disappointed  with  it;  it  is  pretty, 
but  there  are  places  ten  times  more  so  within 
reach;  yet  heaps  of  English  stay  there.  Towards 
eleven  I  got  to  the  Gorge  de  la  Tine,  a  lovely 
narrow  deep  cleft,  with  an  almost  emerald  river 
at  the  bottom,  broken  with  white  foam;  I  turned 
off  and  rested  on  moss  nearly  a  foot  thick,  over- 
looking this  beautiful  gorge.  Then  I  reckoned 
on  some  dinner  at  the  village.  At  quite  a 
large  tidy-looking  inn  outside,  I  asked  for  some 


LETTERS   IN  1874.  285 

cold  meat,  and  to  be  shown  into  the  salon  till  it 
was  ready. 

Thereupon  the  very  cheerful  little  waitress 
ushered  me  into  their  idea  of  a  "  salon,"  a  room 
with  one  table  covered  with  oilcloth  on  which  I 
was  to  dine,  and  another  of  sticks  nailed  across 
like  an  arbor  table,  a  bed  in  one  corner,  a  big  box 
with  three  puppies  in  another,  and  three  chairs. 
The  floor  might  have  been  washed  last  year  or 
the  year  before  !  Then  for  the  dinner,  "  they  were 
sorry  they  had  not  what  I  asked  for,  but  would  do 
the  best  they  could  for  madame."  So  in  came  a 
dish  with  four  little  squares  of  lukewarm  lean 
bacon  nearly  black,  and  four  ditto  of  fat.  An- 
other dish  of  two  cold  potatoes  cut  in  half  and 
dipped  in  some  sort  of  brown  juice,  and  with  these 
half  a  dozen  warm  baked  pears:  further,  some  very 
oily  salad;  however  I  am  not  particular,  fortu- 
nately !  Meanwhile  the  mother  of  the  puppies 
aforesaid  showed  a  positive  determination  not  to 
let  me  leave  the  place  without  having  a  piece  out 
of  me;  she  watched  every  opportunity  of  the  door 
being  ajar  to  come  in  and  make  a  rush  at  me; 
twice  it  came  to  a  regular  fight  with  my  alpen- 
stock !  Every  time  they  shut  her  up  she  got 
loose,  and  came  at  me  again. 

I  have  none  of  the  nervousness  about  dogs 
that  I  have  about  bulls,  still  when  I  found  she 


286  SWISS   LETTERS. 

really  meant  mischief  I  thought,  rain  or  no  rain; 
I  would  push  on  to  some  more  hospitable  quar- 
ters. So  I  trudged  on  to  Montbovon,  rather  out 
of  my  way;  but  it  began  to  rain  and  I  did  not 
care  to  walk  three  miles  in  a  pour  to  Allieres, 
which  is  some  way  up  the  Col  de  Jaman.  The 
Montbovon  hotel  folks,  who  were  very  pleasing, 
told  me  I  should  find  accommodation  in  the  au- 
berge  at  Allieres,  not  very  luxurious,  but  I  should 
be  "  very  well  "  there.  This  being  evidently  dis- 
interested advice,  I  relied  on  it  and  departed. 
However,  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  Switzer- 
land, I  found  a  strange  contrast  to  the  usual  ci- 
vility and  even  kindness  of  the  people.  I  got 
there  about  a  quarter  past  six,  and  found  it  just  a 
remove  better  than  the  Sennbiitte,  which  you  will 
remember  we  camped  at  on  our  way  from  Murren. 
A  tall,  bold,  rough  girl,  of  twenty-five  or  so,  let 
me  in.  "  Yes,  you  can  have  a  room  when  it's 
ready;  not  before.  Here,  in  here!"  And  she 
ushered  me  into  a  dark  dirty  room  with  tables  and 
benches,  marched  off,  and  shut  the  door.  I  did 
not  like  my  quarters  at  all,  but  there  was  no  help  for 
it,  as  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  cross  the  col 
or  even  get  back  to  Montbovon  in  the  dark.  But  of 
course  I  had  been  asking  all  along  to  be  guided,  so 
I  was  not  uneasy,  but  expected  I  had  been  guided 
there  for  some  good  reason,  perhaps  some  wander- 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 4.  287 

ing  sheep  to  be  found.  It  got  quite  dark,  and 
then  five  or  six  men  came  in,  and  she  brought  a 
candle,  and  they  sat  down  at  one  of  the  tables 
and  smoked.  I  hardly  think  they  saw  me.  I 
asked  if  my  room  was  ready.  "  No,  you  must 
wait ! "  and  out  she  darted  slamming  the  door.  So 
I  waited,  sitting  on  my  bench  in  my  dark  corner 
for  nearly  an  hour,  she  comif.g  roughly  in  and 
out,  talking  noisily  and  bringing  wine  for  the 
men.  At  last — "You  can  come  upstairs  now  !  " 
So  I  went,  glad  enough. 

It  was  not  quite  so  dirty  as  downstairs,  but 
not  brilliant.  A  jug  and  basin  on  the  table  was 
all  the  apparatus;  the  bed  was  barley  straw,  no 
pillow  but  a  pink  cotton  bolster.  "  Are  you 
going  to  bed  now  ? "  she  asked.  I  told  her  yes, 
very  soon.  About  eight  o'clock,  just  as  I  really 
was  going  to  bed,  came  a  sharp  angry  rap  at 
my  door.  I  was  glad  it  was  locked,  for  before  I 
could  answer  the  handle  was  rattled  violently. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Are  you  going  to  burn  the  candle  all  night  ? 
How  soon  are  you  going  to  put  it  out,  I  should 
like  to  know!  burning  it  all  away  'comme  cela!'" 
I  considered  it  advisable  to  answer  very  meekly, 
so  I  merely  said  it  should'  be  put  out  in  a  few 
minutes,  whereupon  she  banged  downstairs.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  this  was  an   "  opportunity,"  so 


288  SWISS   LETTERS. 

I  asked  God  that  when  morning  came  He  would 
shut  her  mouth  and  open  mine. 

Wednesday  morning  I  was  up  at  daydreak,  hav- 
ing gone  to  bed  so  early.  At  first  the  whole  sky 
was  clouded,  and  I  feared  I  had  lost  my  excur- 
sion, for  the  beautiful  Col  de  Jaman  is  just  one 
of  those  which  it  is  worse  than  useless  to  cross 
except  in  good  weather.  However  at  sunrise  the 
whole  veil  was  withdrawn  within  a  few  minutes, 
and  a  more  glorious  morning  could  not  be.  I 
came  down  about  half-past  six;  my  friend  was 
pottering  over  the  fire  with  a  big  kettle.  I  asked 
her  to  get  me  some  coffee.  "  Can't  have  coffee  till 
it's  made  !  "  said  she  savagely.  So  I  went  and  sat 
outside  the  door  and  waited  patiently.  In  about 
half  an  hour  she  poked  her  head  out.  "Do  you 
want  anything  besides  coffee  ? "  still  in  a  tone  as 
if  I  were  a  mortal  enemy  !  I  suggested  bread  and 
butter.  "Butter!"  (as  if  I  had  asked  for  turtle 
soup!)  "there  is  none,  but  you  can  have  a  piece 
of  bread  if  you  like."  So  I  had  my  coffee  and  a 
hunch  of  bread;  but  I  don't  pity  anybody  who 
breakfasts  on  Swiss  bread  and  milk. 

Then  it  was  my  turn  !  I  went  close  to  her, 
looked  up  into  her  wicked  looking  eyes,  and  put 
my  hand  on  her  arm  and  said  (as  gently  as 
possible):  "You  are  not  happy;  I  know  you  are 
not."     She  darted  the  oddest  look  at  me;  a  sort 


LETTERS   IN   18J4.  289 

of  startled,  half  frightened  look,  as  if  she  thought  I 
was  a  witch  !  I  saw  I  had  touched  the  right  string 
and  followed  it  up,  telling  her  how  I  saw  last  night 
she  was  unhappy,  even  when  she  was  laughing  and 
joking,  and  how  I  had  prayed  for  her;  and  then, 
finding  she  was  completely  tamed,  spoke  to  her 
quite  plainly  and  solemnly,  and  then  about  Jesus 
and  what  He  could  do  for  her.  She  made  a 
desperate  effort  not  to  cry.  She  listened  in  a  way 
that  I  am  sure  nothing  but  God's  hand  upon  her 
could  have  made  her  listen,  and  took  "A  Saviour 
for  You"  (in  French),  promising  to  read  it,  and 
thanking  me  over  and  over  again.  The  remaining 
few  minutes  I  was  in  the  house  she  was  as  re- 
spectful and  quiet  as  one  could  wish.  I  also  got 
a  talk  with  her  old  mother.  So  if  God  grants 
this  to  be  the  checking  of  this  poor  girl  in  what 
I  should  imagine  to  be  a  very  downward  path, 
was  it  not  well  worth  getting  out  of  the  groove 
of  one's  usual  comforts  and  civilities  ? 

Then  I  trudged  on  up  the  col,  and  as  I  heard 
the  bells  of  a  large  herd  ahead  I  put  myself  under 
convoy  of  a  little  group  of  peasants,  a  woman,  two 
men,  and  a  lad;  they  were  bright  and  intelligent, 
and  seemed  greatly  to  enjoy  asking  me  questions 
about  England,  and  were  immensely  gratified  at 
my  admiration  of  their  own  beautiful  "  patrie,"  so 
this  made  a  nice  opening  for  further  talk  about  the 


290  SWISS    LETTERS. 

more  beautiful  country  above,  and  how  to  get 
there.  I  stayed  some  time  on  the  top  of  the  col, 
which  I  reached  in  about  an  hour  and  a  half;  the 
view  was  singular  and  fine;  the  lake  of  Geneva 
was  hidden  under  an  expanse  of  smooth  white 
cloud,  out  of  which  the  opposite  mountains  rose 
into  an  atmosphere  as  transparent  as  possible, 
while  the  farther  heights  above  Lausanne  loomed 
through  a  strange  blue  haze;  all  the  rest  of  the 
view  was  vividly  clear  in  splendid  sunshine.  It 
is  about  three  hours  down  to  Montreux;  very 
pretty  all  the  way,  till  you  come  through  un- 
interesting vineyards,  like  the  Rhine  ones,  three 
feet  high,  and  not  so  pretty  as  raspberry  beds. 

I  got  here  (Montreux)  about  noon,  and  turned 
into  a  hotel-pension  conveniently  close  to  the 
station. 

A  nice  letter  from  Miss  E.  J.  Whately,  for- 
warded from  Ormont,  was  awaiting  me;  she  has 
been  delayed  in  England,  and  is  now  staying  at 
Spa,  and  cannot  get  here  even  if  I  waited  a  week 
for  her,  so  we  hope  to  meet  another  time.  They 
are  chiefly  English  in  this  pension,  but  not  the 
sort  who  would  care  for  me  or  I  for  them,  I  fancy. 
I  have  been  a  stroll  this  afternoon,  and  am  now 
writing  in  my  room  before  bedtime.  I  can't  think 
how  I  shall  do  with  English  hours,  after  my 
early  ones  here.     That  reminds  me  several  have 


LETTERS    IN   1 87 4.  291 

asked  me  to  say  how  I  am.  Very  well  indeed, 
thank  God.  But  I  really  do  not  feel  sure  whethet 
I  have  "laid  in  a  stock  of  strength,"  i.e.,  whether 
I  shall  be  able  to  do  any  more  in  England  than  I 
have  done,  without  getting  so  very  tired.  For 
here  I  have  been  taking  so  much  rest,  and  doing 
absolutely  nothing  to  tire  myself,  and  in  every  way 
setting  health  first,  that  I  have  had  the  best  pos- 
sible chance.  Except  at  Sepey  where  I  had  two 
or  three  bad  nights,  I  have  been  perfectly  well 
the  whole  time,  and  now  I  really  do  mean  to  try 
and  be  very  prudent  with  the  health  God  has 
given  me,  only  of  course  I  do  not  mean  to  be 
idle;  I  seek  to  gain  strength  that  I  may  use  it. 
On  the  Col  de  Jaman  I  was  greatly  tempted  to 
go  up  the  Dent  de  Jaman,  a  most  inviting  rocky 
peak,  commanding  a  splendid  panorama;  but  it 
would  have  been  two  hours'  extra  exertion,  and 
I  thought  I  had  better  economize  strength, 
and  not  run  even  a  remote  risk  to  finish  up 
with. 

Last  Saturday  week  I  was  for  a  few  minutes  in 
(I  believe)  imminent  danger,  which  I  never  was  to 
my  knowledge  before.  It  was  most  utterly  unex- 
pected and  unforeseen,  or  I  should  not  of  course 
have  dreamt  of  putting  myself  in  such  a  fix.  I  was 
having  a  higher  afternoon  scramble  than  usual, 
having  waited  for  some  time  for  a  clear  day  to 


292  SWISS   LETTERS. 

ascend  a  certain  point  (not  a  summit)  on  the  great 
rocky  mountain,  Sex  Rouge,  from  which  I  ex- 
pected a  peculiarly  fine  view.  In  two  hours  and 
forty  minutes  I  reached  my  point,  the  edge  of  a 
shoulder  over  which  I  saw  right  into  the  midst  of 
the  great  glaciers,  and  at  the  foot  of  a  wall  of 
great  rocks  which  prevented  further  progress.  It 
was  merely  a  cow-track  up  to  the  highest  alp  most 
of  the  way,  but  beyond  that  came  thirty-five  min- 
utes of  very  steep  slope,  partly  poor  grass  and 
partly  loose  stones,  but  not  so  bad  as  to  make  me 
hesitate  about  climbing  it.  However,  I  found  it 
more  awkward  coming  down  than  I  expected;  so 
I  scanned  the  place  carefully,  and  fancied  I  could 
make  out  a  much  easier  descent  by  making  a  cer- 
tain angle  farther  down  the  edge  of  the  shoulder, 
and  then  striking  across  the  slope.  I  thought  I 
had  taken  my  bearings  very  accurately,  a  thing 
I  seldom  fail  to  find  myself  exact  in;  but  some- 
how I  lost  them  and  trended  too  far  to  the  left 
before  ending  the  angle.  It  had  certainly  prom- 
ised to  be  far  easier  than  the  other  way,  but  af- 
ter leaving  the  shoulder  I  found  it  getting  worse 
and  worse;  still  I  thought  every  minute  a  few 
steps  more  would  end  the  difficulty,  so  I  crept  on 
carefully  across  the  small  loose  stones  until  I 
found  it  so  steep  that  it  would  be  nearly  im- 
possible to  take  any   more  steps  without  sliding 


LETTERS   IN  1 87 4.  293 

down,  stones  and  all.  I  had  been  so  sure  of  my 
bearings  that  I  had  been  only  looking  at  my  foot- 
ing till  then;  but  on  pulling  up  to  take  a  wider 
view  of  things,  I  was  startled  to  see  that  instead 
of  only  a  slope  below  me,  which  one  might  have 
slid  down  with  impunity,  there  was  a  precipice  not 
twenty  feet  below  where  I  stood,  a  sheer  edge 
with  nothing  whatever  to  catch  at,  not  a  bush  or 
rock  or  boulder,  nothing  but  the  slipping  stones 
which  threatened  to  give  way  under  my  feet  every 
instant.  I  believe  that  if  I  had  felt  the  least  con- 
fused or  nervous  I  should  have  been  lost,  for  the 
smallest  wrong  movement  of  foot  or  of  balance 
would  have  been  enough  to  send  me  and  the 
stones  down  what  must  have  been  a  fatal  slope. 
I  stood  quite  still,  while  I  committed  it  all 
deliberately  to  Him  who  could  keep  my  feet  from 
falling,  and  then  did  what  I  could.  I  found  it 
would  be  positively  more  dangerous  to  attempt  to 
turn  round;  so  the  only  thing  was,  as  cautiously  as 
possible,  to  work  foothold  with  my  alpenstock, 
moving  one  foot  forward  into  it,  and  then  working 
another,  and  so  on.  In  less  than  five  minutes  I 
had  passed  the  worst,  and  in  about  ten  was  beyond 
all  danger.  I  cannot  understand  how  I  got  there; 
there  was  some  peculiar  ocular  delusion  about  the 
slope  which  altogether  misled  me;  it  looked  as  if 
every  step  must  land  me  on  a  less  steep  slope, 


294  SJV/SS    LETTERS. 

instead  of  which  it  was  worse  at  every  step.     I 
have  come  across  no  parallel  to  it. 

Connie  and  Elizabeth  will  recollect  the  steep 
shale  slope  where  Abraham  picked  steps  for  us  up 
the  last  part  of  the  Diindengrat;  it  was  much 
steeper  than  that,  sharp  rocky  little  stones 
instead  of  shale,  and  the  precipice  just  below  i 
Though  God  kept  me  perfectly  calm  and  cool  at 
the  time,  I  could  not  think  of  it  for  days  after- 
wards without  shuddering,  and  it  will  certainly 
make  me  more  cautious  not  only  how  I  go,  but 
where  I  go,  if  ever  I  have  anymore  mountaineer- 
ing. Yet  this  was  apparently  a  most  innocent 
little  excursion;  not  one  I  should  ever  have 
thought  of  taking  a  guide  for,  or  expecting  to  find 
the  least  difficulty. 

Dijon.  October  2. 

I  left  Montreux  Thursday  at  noon.  I  deter- 
mined to  try  the  experiment  of  day  instead  of 
night  travelling  for  a  long  journey.  As  one 
can  only  go  first  class  by  the  night  expresses, 
one  actually  saves  by  sleeping  on  the  way,  as  two 
nights  at  hotels  do  not  equal  the  difference  be- 
tween first  and  second  class,  and  the  second  class 
carriages  are  quite  equal  to  our  first.  I  think  the 
home  journey  will  be  less  tiring  this  way,  as  it  is 
cool  weather;  if  hot,  then  night  is  best.     Besides, 


LETTERS   IN  1 87 4.  295 

just  now  the  homeward  trains  are  all  so  very  full 
that  one  could  not  have  the  least  chance  of  room 
to  lie  down,  and  it  would  be  intolerable  to  sit  bolt 
upright  all  night.  I  can  sleep  anywhere  if  I  can 
only  lie  down,  but  I  can't  do  with  sitting  up. 

So  my  Thursday's  journey  was  only  from  Mon- 
treux  to  Dole,  which  I  reached  at  nine  p.m.  I 
waited  from  three  to  four  at  Auvernier,  a  tiny 
junction  station  near  Neuchatel;  the  rest  of  the 
world  goes  on  to  Neuchatel  and  back  again,  get- 
ting the  benefit  of  twenty  minutes  extra  riding, 
and  a  great  noisy  station  for  hurried  refreshments. 
By  turning  out  at  Auvernier  I  had  an  hour's  quiet 
rest  on  a  bench  at  a  little  table  overlooking  the 
lake,  with  a  last  view  of  the  snow  mountains 
gleaming  among  clouds.  There  were  several 
countrywomen  getting  refreshment,  cafe  noir  and 
vin  du  pays;  and  tracts  were  quite  a  new  idea 
to  them;  they  were  uncommonly  delighted,  and 
wished  me  all  manner  of  good  things,  nearly  equal 
to  Irish  benedictions. 

I  had  sunshine  up  to  the  last  hour  in  Switzer- 
land, but  on  entering  the  Jura  heavy  rain  came 
on;  nothing  could  have  been  more  delicious,  for 
it  laid  all  the  dust,  which  is  so  extra  horrible  on 
the  way  to  Paris. 

I  seem  to  have  a  way  of  getting  into  queer  sit- 
uations, and  always  coming  out  of  them  all  right; 


296  SWISS   LETTERS. 

so  at  Pontarlier,  where  the  train  stops  twenty 
minutes,  I  got  out  for  some  refreshment,  and  on 
coming  back  to  what  I  felt  sure  was  my  carriage 
every  vestige  of  my  effects  was  gone,  carpetbag, 
alpenstock,  and  all.  Then  ensued  a  hunt  for 
pretty  nearly  half  an  hour,  the  train  for  some  un- 
known reason  stopping  forty  instead  of  twenty 
minutes,  just  as  if  for  my  private  convenience. 
Now  fancy  me  scampering  at  the  heels  of  a  man 
with  a  red  light,  it  being  perfectly  dark,  and  no 
gas  outside  the  station,  all  over  a  labyrinth  of  rails 
and  trucks  and  empty  carriages  and  live  engines, 
hunting  for  various  carriages  which  had  been 
detached  from  our  train,  as  the  officials  would 
have  it  I  was  mistaken  about  the  carriage.  I 
could  not  help  laughing  at  the  position,  dodging 
full  tear  in  and  out  of  sheds  and  across  turning 
tables,  behind  the  red  lamp,  as  if  it  were  a  will  o' 
the  wisp.  I  was  about  giving  it  up  as  hopeless, 
and  decided  on  staying  the  night  at  Pontarlier, 
when  an  official  suddenly  shouted  to  me  from 
behind  a  pump,  "  Est-ce  la  vos  effets,  madame  ? " 
And  sure  enough  it  all  was,  though  nobody  ever 
knew  how  it  got  there.  So  I  went  comfortably 
back  to  my  own  carriage  and  had  no  further 
adventures. 

In  the  compartment  were  two  respectable  men 
from  West  Bromwich,  who  had  been  to  Lucerne 


LETTERS  IN  1 87 4.  297 

for  a  three  weeks'  holiday  with  Cook's  tickets; 
they  applied  to  me  to  interpret  something  for 
them,  and  this  led  to  a  little  talk,  which  speedily 
drifted  as  usual  into  better  things,  to  which  I 
found  a  decided  response.  I  had  alluded  to 
Christ's  work  for  us,  and  the  one  to  whom  I  was 
talking  said  quickly:  "Yes,  miss,  it's  a  transfer, 
that's  the  word;  the  last  three  days  I've  had  that 
word  always  in  my  mind;  that's  just  what  it  is,  a 
transfer.  He  takes  our  sins  and  makes  over  His 
righteousness  to  us."  Then  he  told  me  that  he 
had  met  on  the  Rigi  an  invalid  Irish  clergyman 
who  seemed  full  of  that  one  thing;  "  he  began  with 
the  finished  work  and  he  ended  with  the  finished 
work;  and  I  never  saw  it  so  clearly  before,  though 
I  have  been,  so  to  say,  looking  about  for  it  this 
long  time;  it  was  worth  all  the  journey  there  and 
back  to  get  hold  of  this  view."  It  seemed  curi- 
ous that  such  an  excellent  clergyman  should  be 
obliged  to  give  up  his  living  from  ill  health,  and 
ordered  abroad;  but  he  was  sowing  the  seed  in 
fifty  places  instead  of  one.  Yes,  that  great 
transfer,  it  is  blessed  !  Was  not  this  a  nice  in- 
stance of  the  real  use  of  such  seed  sowing  ? 

At  Dole  I  omnibused  to  the  Hotel  de  Geneve, 
where  I  was  extremely  comfortable. 

Friday,  a  lovely  morning,  my  train  left  at  9.27; 
but  I  had  an  hour's  stroll  about  the  town  and 


298  swiss  Betters. 

suburbs,  which  I  had  specially  planned  to  do, 
thinking  it  an  unusually  good  opportunity  for 
tract  distribution,  being  not  at  all  a  likely  place 
for  other  sowers  to  have  been  at  work;  so  I 
finished  up  the  rest  of  my  supply. 

It  was  not  much  more  than  an  hour  to  Dijon, 
where  I  had  to  wait  till  2.36;  so,  as  I  had  only 
had  one  proper  dinner  since  Sunday,  I  thought  I 
had  better  come  to  this  Hotel  du  Jura  and  have 
a  long  rest  and  a  good  meal  at  table  d'hote !  I 
struck  up  with  some  lively  English,  who  turn 
out  to  be  relatives  of  Miss  Weldon,  of  Kidder- 
minster. 

Travelling  in  cool  weather  does  make  an  enor- 
mous difference  in  fatigue.  I  got  to  Paris  at 
10.36  p.m.  It  had  rained  most  of  the  way,  so  it 
was  a  nice,  clean,  cool  journey.  On  arriving  I 
drove  in  a  tiny  open  carriage,  which  was  most 
refreshing,  to  Cook's  Hotel,  thinking  it  a  better 
plan  to  go  where  heaps  of  Swiss  tourists  go  than 
to  any  other  hotel.  I  had  a  most  paternal  driver, 
really  such  a  nice  fellow,  who  told  me  I  was  "  trop 
jeune  "  to  travel  "  toute  seule"!  and  wondered  I 
was  not  afraid.  So  this  led  to  a  small  sermon 
on  God's  care  and  love,  which  he  seemed  to 
think  interesting.  I  was  very  comfortable  at  the 
hotel;  and  though  I  had  a  short  night  it  was  a 
good  one,  for  I   "paid  attention  to  it,"  as   Mr. 


LETTERS   IN   l874-  299 

Dowling  says  he  does  when  he  goes  to  bed  for 
only  three  hours. 

In  the  train  I  had  one  of  those  curious  musical 
visions,  which  very  rarely  visit  me.  I  hear  strange 
and  very  beautiful  chords,  generally  full,  slow  and 
grand,  succeeding  each  other  in  most  interesting 
sequences.  I  do  not  invent  them,  I  could  not; 
they  pass  before  my  mind,  and  I  only  listen. 
Now  and  then  my  will  seems  aroused,  when  I  see 
ahead  how  some  fine  resolution  might  follow,  and 
I  seem  to  will  that  certain  chords  should  come, 
and  then  they  do  come;  but  then  my  will  seems 
suspended  again,  and  they  go  on  quite  indepen- 
dently. It  is  so  interesting,  the  chords  seem  to 
fold  over  each  other  and  die  away  down  into  music 
of  infinite  softness;  and  then  they  unfold  and  open 
out  as  if  great  curtains  were  being  withdrawn  one 
after  another,  widening  the  view,  till  with  a  gath- 
ering power  and  intensity  and  fulness  it  seems 
as  if  the  very  skies  were  being  opened  out  before 
me,  and  a  sort  of  great  blaze  and  glory  of  music, 
such  as  my  outside  ears  never  heard,  gradually 
swells  out  in  perfectly  sublime  splendor.  This 
time  there  was  an  added  feature:  I  seemed  to  hear 
depths  and  heights  of  sound  beyond  the  scale 
which  human  ears  can  receive;  keen,  far-up  oc- 
taves, like  vividly  twinkling  starlight  of  music; 
and  mighty,  slow  vibrations  of  gigantic  strings, 


300  SWISS   LETTERS. 

going  down  into  grand  thunders  of  depths,  octaves 
below  anything  otherwise  appreciable  as  musical 
notes.  Then  all  at  once  it  seemed  as  if  my  soul 
had  got  a  new  sense,  and  I  could  see  this  inner 
music  as  well  as  hear  it;  and  then  it  was  like  gaz- 
ing down  into  marvellous  abysses  of  sound  and 
up  into  dazzling  regions  of  what  to  the  eye  would 
have  been  light  and  color,  but  to  this  new  sense 
was  sound.  Was  it  not  odd  ?  It  lasted  perhaps 
half  an  hour,  but  I  don't  know  exactly,  and  it  is 
very  difficult  to  describe  in  words. 

Saturday,  the  people  called  me  at  5.30  a.m., 
saying  the  tidal  train  went  at  seven.  So  I  was 
off  at  6.35,  and  on  reaching  the  station  found  the 
train  that  day  was  not  till  9.10.  However,  it 
turned  out  for  the  best,  of  course.  I  went  on  to 
Boulogne  by  a  7.30  train,  and  thus  had  time  for  a 
two  hours'  rest  and  an  unhurried  meal,  which  I 
think  was  a  better  preparation  for  the  crossing 
than  a  hurried  scalding  with  soup  or  coffee  and  a 
rush  to  the  boat.  It  was  a  bad  look  out  in  any 
case,  for  the  wind  was  tremendous,  so  that  it  was 
positively  difficult  to  walk  along  the  quays,  which 
are  supposed  to  be  quite  sheltered,  and  even  in 
this  harbor  the  boat  swayed  so  that  it  was  not 
easy  to  get  on  board.  But  for  being  Saturday  I 
almost  think  I  should  have  waited;  but  I  made 
up  my  mind   to  endurance,   and  went.     I   shall 


LETTERS   IN   1 87 4.  30 1 

never  forget  the  first  stride  of  the  vessel  out  of 
the  harbor,  I  never  felt  anything  like  it  as  she 
met  the  first  wave,  it  was  just  a  sheer  leap  and  a 
plunge  !  Now  I  take  it  to  be  a  proof  that  I  really 
must  be  very  much  stronger,  for  although  it  was 
so  rough  I  was  not  nearly  so  ill  as  usual.  I  had 
not  that  horrible  sense  of  utter  illness  which  one 
fancies  must  be  like  actual  dying;  and  I  felt  most 
thankful  for  the  comparative  exemption  and  the 
sign  of  strength.  I  should  think  there  were  three 
hundred  people  to  watch  the  unfortunates  come 
on  shore !  it  was  regularly  running  a  gauntlet. 

I  came  on  to  London,  feeling  quite  well,  and 
went  straight  to  Clapton  Square;  I  had  tele- 
graphed to  them  from  Folkestone,  and  got  in 
about  8.30,  the  boat  being  an  hour  late  from  the 
head  wind. 

It  was  rather  nice  that  I  had  an  opportunity  of 
a  last  bit  of  "  holiday  work"  in  the  very  last  five 
minutes  before  coming  to  anchor  at  the  H.'s.  I 
was  looking  for  a  boy  to  carry  my  bag;  two  poor 
little  chaps  were  so  eager  that  I  chartered  them 
both;  one  was  a  matchbox  boy,  and  the  other 
selling  papers;  they  trotted  on  each  side  of  me, 
as  I  divided  my  small  burdens  between  them,  not 
liking  to  disappoint  either;  and  after  having  told 
the  "old,  old  story"  so  many  times  in  German 
and  French,  it  was  uncommonly  pleasant  to  give 


302  SWISS   LETTERS. 

a  little  of  its  sweet  music  in  English  to  these  poor 
little  London  lads;  they  were  so  attentive  and 
apparently  interested. 

I  wish  you  had  seen  and  heard  the  welcome  I 
got  here !  it  was  so  nice,  and  altogether  I  was  so 
happy.  Curious  that  you  should  have  sent  me 
Psalm  ciii.  1-3;  my  mind  was  specially  full  of  it, 
only  adding  verses  4  and  5.  I  have  so  very,  very 
much  to  bless  Him  for,  and  the  beautiful  se- 
quence of  five  blessings  seemed  to  sum  it  all  up: 
"forgiveth,"  "  healeth,"  "  redeemeth,"  "crowneth 
thee  with  lovingkindness  and  tender  mercies," 
and  "  satisfieth  thy  mouth  with  good  things." 
What  a  great  deal  it  is  !  And  really  I  may  add, 
"so  that  thy  youth  is  renewed  like  the  eagle's," 
for  I  feel  so  mentally  fresh  and  unweary,  and  the 
H.'s  all  say  they  never  saw  me  looking  anything 
like  so  well.  So  herewith  ends  the  "  circular " 
series  of  1874 ! 


X. 

GOLDEN  LAND. 

Far  from  home,  alone  I  wander 

Over  mountain  and  pathless  wave; 
But  the  fair  land  that  shineth  yonder 

Claimeth  the  love  that  erst  it  gave. 
Golden  Land,  so  far,  so  nearing ! 

Land  of  those  who  wait  for  me ! 
Ever  brighter  the  vision  cheering, 

Golden  Land,  I  haste  to  thee ! 
On  my  path  a  golden  sunlight 

Softly  falls  where'er  I  roam, 
And  I  know  it  is  the  one  light 

Both  of  exile  and  of  home. 
Golden  Land,  so  far,  so  near 
On  my  heart  engraven  clear, 
Though  I  wander  from  strand  to  strand, 
Dwells  my  heart  in  that  Golden  Land. 

Pension  Wengen,  \$th  September,  1876. 


XL 

OUR   SWISS  GUIDE. 

WRITTEN  IN  1874. 
(Reprinted  from  the  '■'■Sunday  Magazine.") 

Not  the  least  interesting  part  of  mountaineering 
is  the  perpetual  upspringing  of  lessons  and  illus- 
trations and  analogies.  Sometimes  an  idea  starts 
up  which  has,  for  one's  self,  all  the  delicious 
charm  of  a  quite  new  thought,  though  very  likely 
it  may  have  flashed  upon  the  minds  of  scores  of 
other  travellers;  sometimes  a  very  old  and  famil- 
iar one  presents  itself,  and  we  have  the  pleasure 
of  proving  it,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  by  practi- 
cal experience.  In  noting  one  little  group  of 
illustrations  among  many,  those  which  cluster 
round  the  idea  of  a  "Guide,"  we  shall  not  be 
careful  to  steer  clear  of  such  old  ideas,  though 
we  may  hope  to  add  some  freshness  to  them. 

The  application  throughout  will  be  so  very  ob- 
vious to  any  mind  accustomed  to  take  the  least 
interest  in  analogies  of  spiritual  life,  that  we  prefer 


CUR    SWISS    GUIDE.  305 

giving  the  points  of  illustration,  only  leaving  the 
reader  to  supply  the  "  heavenly  meaning  "  which 
shall  underlie  each  sentence. 

Curiously  enough,  the  name  of  our  favorite 
Swiss  guide,  the  one  who  inspired  us  with  most 
confidence,  and  to  whom  we  should  most  like  to 
entrust  ourselves  in  any  future  tour,  at  once  gave 
the  keynote  of  thought;  it  was  Joseph.  While  we 
instinctively  trusted  his  sagacity  and  strength,  it 
was  additionally  pleasant  to  find  that  our  bright 
young  guide  was  a  believer  in  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  our  true  Joseph.  He  had  remarked  that 
his  great  physical  strength  and  health  was  "the 
most  splendid  earthly  Gift,"  but  on  our  mention 
of  the  most  glorious  Gift  of  all,  our  Saviour  Christ 
himself,  he  rejoined  fervently,  "Ah,  one  can  never 
estimate  the  value  of  that  gift  !  " 

But  to  proceed  to  our  illustrations. 

I.  The  first  duty  of  a  really  first-rate  guide,  when 
arranging  for  a  long  snow  or  glacier  excursion,  is 
to  see  that  we  are  properly  provided  with  every- 
thing needful.  He  ascertains  that  you  have  snow 
spectacles,  without  which  the  glare  of  the  snow  is 
not  simply  inconvenient,  but  injurious;  and  veils, 
without  which  you  stand  a  fair  chance  of  finding 
your  face  completely  flayed,  if  it  should  be  a  sunny 
day.  He  examines  the  spike  of  your  alpenstock 
and  the  nails  of  your  boots,  and  inquires  after  your 


306  SWISS   LETTERS. 

wraps,  and  often  gives  curiously  practical  advice  as 
to  other  pojnts  in  your  outfit.  He  not  only  tells 
you  what  you  must  have  as  to  provision,  but,  if 
the  excursion  involves  a  night  in  some  mountain 
hut,  he  sends  on  the  necessary  fuel  and  food,  and 
sometimes  even  bedding.  In  all  these  matters 
you  do  not  need  to  trouble  at  all;  if  you  will  only 
leave  it  altogether  to  him,  he  will  think  of  every- 
thing, arrange  everything,  and  provide  everything; 
and  when  the  time  comes  you  will  find  all  in  order, 
your  shoes  fresh  nailed,  your  alpenstock  newly 
spiked,  the  porter  sent  on  with  provision,  and  the 
coil  of  strong  rope  and  the  ice  axe  all  ready  for 
the  difficult  places  which  you  do  not  yet  know  of. 

But  many  travellers  do  not  even  know  that  the 
guide  is  thus  willing  and  competent;  they  do  not 
ask,  or  perhaps  they  even  decline,  his  aid  and 
advice.  Instead  of  throwing  it  all  upon  his  re- 
sponsibility, they  take  all  the  trouble  themselves, 
and  then  generally  find  something  gone  wrong 
or  something  overlooked. 

2.  Before  you  start,  the  guide  has  disposed  of  all 
those  heavier  matters  which  you  could  not  possi- 
bly carry  for  yourself.  Very  often  they  are  taken 
completely  out  of  your  sight.  Encumbered  with 
these,  you  could  not  even  set  out  on  your  journey, 
much  less  progress  quickly  and  pleasantly. 

But  there  are  always  plenty  of  little  affairs  which 


OUR    SWISS    GUIDE.  307 

seem  mere  nothings  at  first,  but  which  are  soon 
found  to  be  real  burdens.  The  guide  is  perfectly 
willing  to  relieve  you  of  all  these.  They  are  no 
weight  to  him;  he  quite  smiles  at  the  idea  of  its 
being  any  trouble  to  him  to  carry  them,  but  they 
make  a  serious  difference  to  you.  He  offers  to 
take  them  at  first;  and  if  you  decline,  though  he 
may  not  perhaps  offer  again,  he  will  cheerfully  take 
them  when  later  on,  you  feel  their  weight,  and 
hand  them  one  by  one  to  him,  till  the  very  last  is 
given  up,  and  you  walk  lightly  and  freely.  A 
beginner  says  she  "would  rather  carry  her  little 
knapsack,  it  is  really  no  weight  at  all ! "  and  thinks 
a  parcel  or  two  in  her  pocket  "can't  make  any 
difference,"  and  prefers  wearing  her  waterproof, 
because  "it  isn't  at  all  heavy."  But  she  has  not 
gone  far  before  she  is  very  glad,  if  a  sensible  girl, 
to  give  up  her  knapsack,  tiny  though  it  be;  and 
then  she  finds  that  a  waterproof  won't  do  for 
climbing,  and  she  hands  that  over;  and  presently 
she  even  empties  her  pocket,  and  the  guide 
trudges  away  with  it  all.  Then  she  is  surprised 
to  find  what  a  difference  it  does  make,  and  under- 
stands why  her  friend,  who  knew  the  guide's  ways 
better  and  gave  up  every  single  thing  to  him  at 
first,  is  getting  along  so  cool  and  fresh  and  elas- 
tically.  But  mark  that  the  weight  of  a  burden  is 
seldom  realized  till  we  really  are  going  uphill  and 


308  SWISS   IETTERS. 

in  a  fair  way  to  make  progress.  Indeed,  this  very 
sensitiveness  to  weight  is  a  quick  test  of  increased 
gradient.  We  think  nothing  about  it  as  long  as  we 
are  walking  on  a  level  or  slightly  downhill;  but  as 
soon  as  we  begin  the  real  ascent  the  pull  of  the 
little  burdens  is  felt  at  once,  and  the  assistance, 
which  before  we  did  not  crave,  becomes  very  wel- 
come. It  is  then  that  we  feel  we  must  "  lay  aside 
every  weight." 

3.  One  may  almost  certainly  distinguish  between 
a  tyro  and  an  old  hand  by  watching  for  a  few 
minutes  the  style  of  march.  A  novice  will  walk 
at  an  irregular  pace  according  to  the  irregular- 
ities of  the  ground,  making  little  "  spurts  "  when 
she  comes  to  an  easy  bit,  and  either  putting  on 
steam  or  lagging  behind  for  extra  steep  ones; 
stopping  to  gather  flowers  and  poke  at  curious 
boulders;  taking  long  or  short  steps  according  to 
circumstances,  and  never  thinking  of  such  a  thing 
as  noticing,  much  less  imitating,  the  steady 
rhythm  of  the  guide's  walk.  Probably  she  ex- 
presses her  astonishment  at  his  unexpectedly 
slow  pace,  and  would  prefer  getting  on  a  little 
faster;  very  likely  she  dashes  ahead  or  aside,  and 
presently  has  to  be  recalled  to  the  track,  which 
is  not  so  easy  to  keep  as  she  supposed. 

One  with  more  experience  is  quite  content  to 
take  the  guide's  pace,  knowing  certainly  that  it 


OUR    SWISS    GUIDE.  309 

pays  in  the  long  run,  and  saves  an  enormous 
amount  of  fatigue,  and  therefore  of  time  also.  Very 
short  steps,  slowly,  silently,  and  steadily  placed, 
but  as  regular  as  martial  music,  never  varying  in 
beat,  never  broken  by  alternation  of  strides  and 
pauses — this  is  the  guide's  example  for  uphill 
work;  and  yet  it  is  what  one  never  believes  in 
till  one  has  learnt  by  experience  that  one  gets 
through  twice  as  much  by  it. 

4.  It  is  wonderful  what  a  saving  of  fatigue  it  is 
if  from  the  very  beginning  one  obeys  the  guide 
implicitly  and  follows  him  exactly  You  spy  such 
a  handy  "short  cut,"  you  can  see  so  precisely  where 
you  can  join  the  path  again,  it  will  save  you  such 
a  provoking  long  round,  you  can't  think  why  the 
guide  does  not  choose  it !  So  away  you  go,  exult- 
ing in  your  cleverness,  straight  uphill,  instead  of 
that  tiresome  zigzag. 

But  it  is  rather  steeper  than  you  thought,  and 
you  get  just  a  little  out  of  breath;  and  you  find  an 
awkward  little  perpendicular  rock  right  in  the  way 
and  you  must  go  round  it;  and  then  you  get  into 
rhododendron  bushes  which  are  thicker  than  you 
thought,  and  you  get  very  wet;  and  then  you  see 
your  companions  reaching  the  point  you  are  mak- 
ing for,  and  you  scramble  and  hurry.  And  by  the 
time  you  have  done  with  your  short  cut  you  find 
you  have  not  only  gained  no  time,  but  that  the  few 


310  SWISS    LETTERS. 

minutes  away  from  the  guide  have  heated  you  and 
taken  more  out  of  you  than  an  hour's  steady 
following.  Later  in  the  day  you  recollect  your 
short  cuts  of  the  morning,  and  wish  you  had 
economized  your  breath. 

5.  The  full  value  of  exact  following  is  not  learnt 
in  the  valleys  or  pastures.  It  is  on  the  "  high 
places"  and  on  the  unsullied  snowfields  that  one 
discovers  this. 

It  is  when  we  are  high  away  above  the  green 
slopes,  seeing  no  track  but  our  guide's  own  foot- 
steps, that  we  learn  its  safety.  He  set  his  foot  on 
that  stone:  there  you  must  set  yours,  for  the  next 
is  loose  and  would  betray  you;  he  planted  his 
alpenstock  on  that  inch  of  rock:  there  you  must 
plant  yours,  for  an  inch  either  way  would  give  no 
firm  hold;  he  climbed  by  that  jut  of  rock:  so  must 
you,  for  the  other  would  be  too  hard  a  step;  he 
sprang  but  half  way  over  that  torrent,  and  you 
must  do  the  same  at  cost  of  wetting  your  feet,  for 
he  knew  that  the  slab  of  rock  which  you  could 
have  reached  at  one  bound  was  treacherously 
slippery  and  dangerous. 

It  is  here  also  that  we  get  into  the  way  of  in- 
stant and  unquestioning  compliance  with  every 
word  our  guide  utters.  I  was  struck  with  the  re- 
mark of  a  Swiss  Alpine  Clubbist  in  a  description 
of  his  ascent   of  the  Todi.     His  guide  suddenly 


OUR    SWISS    GUIDE.  31 1 

shouted  to  him,  "Turn  sharp  to  the  right!"  He 
saw  no  reason  whatever  for  this,  but  obeyed  in- 
stantly. The  next  moment  an  immense  block  of 
stone  fell  upon  the  spot  where  he  would  have  been 
nad  he  hesitated  an  instant  or  even  looked  round 
to  satisfy  himself.  The  quick  and  practised  eye 
of  the  guide  saw  the  trembling  of  the  loosened 
.nass  which  the  traveller  could  not  see.  A  query 
would  have  been  fatal.  He  added,  "  In  these  high 
places  one  learns  to  obey  one's  guide  without 
stopping  to  ask  'Why?'" 

But  when  the  snow  slopes,  so  cool  and  pure  and 
beautiful,  are  reached,  another  phase  of  following 
is  learnt.  There  is  not  the  excitement  and  effort 
of  the  rock  climbing,  and  at  first  it  seems  very 
quiet  and  easy  work,  with  a  special  exhilaration 
of  its  own,  making  one  feel  as  if  one  had  started 
quite  fresh,  all  the  rest  of  the  journey  counting  for 
nothing.  Once  we  set  out  on  such  a  slope,  track- 
ing after  our  guide  in  a  general  sort  of  way,  rather 
interested  in  making  our  own  footprints,  and  hardly 
distinguishing  his  from  those  of  our  companions. 
If  we  turned  to  look  back,  it  was  surprising  what 
a  number  of  unconscious  little  curves  our  feet  had 
made.  But  the  snow  was  rather  soft,  and  we  soon 
found  it  much  harder  work  than  we  expected. 
One  of  us  was  walking,  as  she  always  did,  close 
behind  the  guide,  because  she  was  not  quite  sc 


312  SWISS   IE  ITERS. 

strong  as  the  rest,  and  was  therefore  under  his 
especial  care.  Suddenly  she  called  out,  "Oh,  do 
set  your  feet  exactly  in  the  guide's  footsteps,  you 
can't  think  how  much  easier  it  is  ! "  So  we  tried 
it,  and  certainly  should  not  have  believed  what  a 
difference  it  would  make.  All  the  difficulty  and 
effort  seemed  gone;  the  fatiguing  sinking  and 
laborious  lifting  of  our  feet  were  needless;  we  set 
them  now  exactly  where  the  guide's  great  foot  had 
trodden,  keeping  his  order  of  right  and  left,  and  all 
was  easy,  a  hundred  steps  less  toil  than  twenty 
before.  But,  to  have  the  full  benefit  of  this,  one 
needed  to  keep  also  very  near  to  the  guide,  for 
the  last  comers  trod  rather  in  their  companions' 
footmarks,  and  were  often  misled  by  some  false 
or  uncertain  treading  of  these,  which  marred  the 
perfectness  of  the  original  steps. 

6.  Thorough  knowledge  of  the  guide's  language 
adds  both  to  the  enjoyment  and  safety  of  our 
following.  He  has  much  to  tell  us  by  the  way, 
and  is  always  ready  to  answer  questions  and  give 
information.  One  who  does  not  easily  understand 
loses  a  great  deal.  A  companion  may  be  very 
willing  to  translate,  but  may  do  so  incorrectly,  and 
in  any  case  the  freshness  and  point  of  many  a 
remark  is  lost;  while  it  often  happens  that  the 
usual  interpreter  of  a  party  is  not  near  enough  for 
appeal  or  too  tired  to  keep  up  the  interchange. 


OUR    SWISS    GUIDE.  313 

In  sudden  emergencies  too  it  may  be  really  im- 
portant that  each  should  personally  understand, 
and  thus  be  able  instantly  to  obey,  the  guide's 
directions. 

Moreover,  it  is  very  desirable  not  only  thus  to 
"know  his  voice,"  but  to  be  able  to  speak  to  him 
for  one's  self.  Once  one  of  us  slipped  in  a  rather 
awkward  place.  She  called  out,  "  Stop  a  mo- 
ment !  "  but  the  guide  in  advance  knew  no  Eng- 
lish, and  therefore  did  not  heed  her,  and  but  for 
the  quick  call  in  German  of  another  who  saw  the 
slip,  she  might  have  been  frightened  and  hurt. 

7.  When  we  come  to  really  difficult  places,  or 
glaciers  with  hidden  crevasses,  we  find  the  use  of 
the  coil  of  rope.  This  is  fastened  first  round  the 
guide  himself,  and  then  round  the  rest  of  the 
party,  allowing  a  length  of  eight  or  ten  feet  be- 
tween each.  Once  I  questioned  the  strength  of 
the  rope,  upon  which  the  guide  untwisted  it  a 
little,  and  showed  me  a  scarlet  thread  hidden 
among  the  strands.  He  told  me  that  this  was 
the  mark  that  it  was  a  real  Alpine  Club  rope, 
manufactured  expressly  for  the  purpose,  and  to 
be  depended  upon  in  a  matter  of  life  and  death. 
It  is  remarkable  that  this  typical  "line  of  scarlet 
thread  "  should  have  been  selected  as  the  guar- 
antee of  safety. 

Once  roped  thus,  you  have  a  sense  of  security 


314  SWISS   LETTERS. 

in  passing  what  would  otherwise  be  very  danger- 
ous places,  especially  concealed  crevasses.  And 
not  only  a  sense  but  a  reality  of  security.  You 
feel  the  snow  yield  beneath  your  feet,  you  sink  in, 
and  you  have  neither  hand  nor  foothold;  you  get 
perhaps  a  glimpse  of  a  fathomless  blue  depth 
below  you.  If  you  struggle  you  only  break  away 
the  snow  and  enlarge  the  cavity.  But  you  are  in 
no  real  danger,  and  if  you  have  confidence  in  your 
guide  and  the  rope,  you  wait  quietly,  perhaps  even 
smilingly,  till  you  are  hauled  out  of  the  hole,  and 
landed  on  firm  snow  again.  Why  ?  Because  you 
are  firmly  knotted  to  your  guide,  and  also  to  all 
the  rest  of  your  party.  You  had  not  even  time 
to  call  out  ere  he  felt  the  sudden  strain  upon  the 
rope,  and  instantly  turned  to  help  you,  drawing 
you  easily  up  to  his  side  without  hurt.  Your 
friends  felt  the  shock  too,  but  they  could  not  do 
much  to  help,  only  they  watched  and  admired 
the  guide,  and  found  their  own  fears  (if  they  had 
any)  lessened,  and  their  confidence  in  him  and  his 
rope  greatly  increased. 

But  it  is  the  guide  himself  who  bears  the  brunt 
of  these  difficulties.  He  goes  first,  carefully  sound- 
ing the  snow,  avoiding  many  a  crevasse  which  we 
should  never  have  suspected,  and  sometimes  get- 
ting a  fall  which  would  have  been  ours  but  for  his 
trying  the  way  for  us.    If  we  really  follow  his  steps 


OUR    SWISS    GUIDE.  315 

exactly  and  patiently,  the  probability  is  that  we 
never  go  in  at  all,  for  the  snow  that  has  borne  his 
weight  never  gives  way  under  ours.  But  if  we 
swerve  even  a  few  inches  from  his  footmarks,  we 
may  soon  find  ourselves  in  the  predicament  de- 
scribed above. 

8.  Sometimes  we  come  to  a  slope  of  frozen 
snow  so  steep  that  it  looks  absolutely  impossible 
to  climb  it.  And  so  it  would  be,  but  for  our 
guide.  Our  impossibilities  only  develop  his  re- 
sources. Now  he  unshoulders  his  ice  axe,  and 
with  wonderful  rapidity  cuts  steps  by  which  we 
ascend  even  more  easily  than  hitherto.  And  we 
notice  that  these  extra-difficult  slopes  are  a  posi- 
tive advantage  to  us,  because  while  he  has  all  the 
hard  work  we  have  time  to  take  breath.  When 
the  steep  bit  is  passed,  we  have  gained  greatly  in 
height,  and  yet  we  feel  quite  freshened  for  fur- 
ther ascent,  instead  of  fatigued. 

9.  The  guide  decides  your  rest  as  well  as  your 
progress,  if  you  are  wise  enough  to  let  him.  He 
very  soon  measures  your  powers,  and  not  only 
knows  precisely  when  a  crevasse  is  just  too  wide 
for  you  to  leap  without  help,  or  a  rock  just  too 
awkward  for  you  to  climb,  but  he  also  seems  to 
know  precisely  when  you  had  better  make  longer 
or  shorter  halts.  Sometimes  you  are  unwilling  to 
rest  when  he  proposes  it,  and  perhaps  he  lets  you 


316  SWISS   LETTERS. 

have  your  own  way  and  go  on,  and  then  you  are 
quite  certain  to  be  sorry  for  it.  But  more  often  he 
insists,  and  then  you  always  find  he  was  right, 
and  that  he  had  timed  the  halt  better  than  you 
would  have  done.  Then,  without  waiting  to  be 
asked,  he  unfastens  your  wraps,  contrives  a  seat 
upon  the  snow,  and  folds  a  shawl  around  you.  It 
is  no  use  saying  you  do  not  feel  cold,  h.e  is  re- 
sponsible for  you,  and  knows  what  is  safe,  and 
will  not  let  you  risk  getting  chilled  by  the  subtle 
glacier  wind.  Then  he  gives  you  the  provision  he 
has  carried  for  you,  meat,  and  bread,  and  wine, 
and  leaves  no  little  stone  unturned  towards  mak- 
ing your  halt  as  refreshing  and  pleasant  as  possi- 
ble. There  is  no  need  for  you  to  be  calculating 
time,  and  fidgeting  about  going  on;  he  knows 
how  much  is  yet  before  you,  and  he  will  tell  you 
when  it  is  time  to  be  moving  again. 

10.  I  mentioned  that  the  weakest  of  our  party 
was  specially  cared  for.  Sometimes  while  the 
others  had  merely  general  orders  she  had  his 
strong  arm,  and  thus  escaped  the  slips  which  the 
more  independent  ones  now  and  then  made. 
Weakness  or  ailments  proved  his  patience  and 
care.  On  one  occasion  the  "  mountain  sickness" 
which  sometimes  befalls  travellers  on  great  heights 
suddenly  attacked  one  not  accustomed  to  fail  in 
strength,  and  then  nothing  could  exceed  Joseph's 


'     OUR    SWISS    GUIDE.  317 

kindness  and  attention.  He  made  a  wonderfully 
comfortable  couch  on  the  snow,  told  us  what  was 
the  matter,  administered  advice  and  wine,  and 
waited  patiently  and  sympathetically  till  his  pa- 
tient, completely  prostrate  for  an  hour,  felt  able 
to  stand.  Then  in  a  firm  decided  tone  he  said, 
u Ick  ubernehme  die  Kranke!"  (/undertake  the 
sick  one!)  and  leaving  the  other  guides  to  attend 
to  all  else,  his  powerful  arm  helped  "  die  Kranke" 
down  to  a  level  where  the  less  rarefied  air  soon 
set  all  to  rights. 

11.  It  is  understood  that  a  true  Swiss  guide  is 
literally  "  faithful  unto  death,"  that  he  does  not 
hesitate  to  risk  his  own  life  for  the  sake  of  his 
charge,  and  that  instances  are  known  in  which  it 
has  not  only  been  risked  but  actually  sacrificed. 
We  have  never  been  in  a  position  to  prove  this, 
but  the  undoubted  fact  completes  the  illustration. 
Yet  this  completion  only  shows  the  imperfection. 
For  that  poor  faithful  guide  may  perish  with  the 
traveller,  and  not  instead oi  him;  the  sacrifice  may 
be  all  in  vain  where  the  power  and  the  will  are  not 
commensurate.  In  such  illustrations  we  may  learn 
as  much  by  the  contrasts  as  by  the  similarities; 
and  how  often,  as  in  this  instance,  does  the  very 
failure  of  an  earthly  type  bring  out  the  glory  and 
perfection  of  the  Antitype.  Our  glorious  Guide, 
who  has  called  us  to  the  journey,  and  whose  pro- 


3i8  SWISS   LETTERS. 

vision  for  it  is  "  without  money  and  without  price," 
cannot  fail  in  His  undertaking.  All  who  are  in 
His  covenant  hands  are  "  kept  by  the  power  of 
God  through  faith  unto  salvation,"  and  ''shall 
never  perish."  What  He  hath  begun  he  will  per- 
form, for  He  "  is  able  to  keep  you  from  falling, 
and  to  present  you  faultless  before  the  presence 
of  His  glory  with  exceeding  joy."  He  is  not 
merely  willing  to  lay  down  His  life,  but  He  hath 
laid  it  down  for  us,  and  now  death  cannot  touch 
our  Leader  any  more;  He  hath  "  the  power  of  an 
endless  life,"  and  we  are  united  to  that  life  by 
the  strong  cords  of  His  eternal  purpose  and  His 
everlasting  love,  which  no  friction  can  weaken 
and  no  stroke  can  sever.  However  tremendous 
the  gulf  beneath  us,  if  thus  united  to  Him,  He 
will  lead  us  on  till  our  feet,  no  longer  weary, 
stand  far  above  the  clouds  upon  the  mountain 
of  our  God,  never  to  repass  the  toils  and  dangers 
of  the  ascent,  never  to  return  to  the  valley, 
never  to  part  from  the  strong  and  loving  Guide 
who  has  led  us  to  such  a  Hitherto  of  rest  and 
wonder,  and  to  such  a  Henceforth  of  joy  and 
praise. 


XII. 
A    SONG  IN  THE  NIGHT. 

WRITTEN  IN  SEVERE  PAIN,   SUNDAY  AFTERNOON,    OCTOBER 
8TH,   1876,  AT  THE  PENSION  WENGEN,  ALPS. 

I  TAKE  this  pain,  Lord  Jesus, 

From  Thine  own  hand; 
The  strength  to  bear  it  bravely 

Thou  wilt  command. 

I  am  too  weak  for  effort, 

So  let  me  rest, 
In  hush  of  sweet  submission, 

On  Thine  own  breast. 

I  take  this  pain,  Lord  Jesus, 

As  proof  indeed 
That  Thou  art  watching  closely 

My  truest  need; 

That  Thou  my  good  Physician 

Art  watching  still; 
That  all  Thine  own  good  pleasure 

Thou  wilt  fulfil. 

I  take  this  pain,  Lord  Jesus; 

What  Thou  dost  choose 
The  soul  that  really  loves  Thee 

Will  not  refuse. 


320  SWISS   LETTERS. 

It  is  not  for  the  first  time 

I  trust  to-day; 
For  Thee  my  heart  has  never 

A  trustless  "  Nay  "  ! 

I  take  this  pain,  Lord  Jesus; 

But  what  beside? 
'Tis  no  unmingled  portion 

Thou  dost  provide. 

In  every  hour  of  faintness, 

My  cup  runs  o'er 
"With  faithfulness  and  mercy, 

And  love's  sweet  store. 

I  take  this  pain,  Lord  Jesus, 

As  Thine  own  gift; 
And  true  though  tremulous  praises 

I  now  uplift. 

I  am  too  weak  to  sing  them, 

But  Thou  dost  hear 
The  whisper  from  the  pillow, — 

Thou  art  so  near ! 

'Tis  Thy  dear  hand,  O  Saviour, 

That  presseth  sore, 
The  hand  that  bears  the  nail-prints 

For  evermore. 

And  now  beneath  its  shadow, 

Hidden  by  Thee, 
The  pressure  only  tells  mc 

Thou  lovest  me  ! 


XIII. 

MEMORANDA  OF 

A  SWISS  TOUR   WITH  F.  R.  H. 

BY  HER  SISTER  M.   V.  G.  H. 


It  was  on  a  calm  evening  in  the  beginning-  of  July, 
1876,  that  we  crossed  by  steamer  from  Newhaven 
to  Dieppe.  Some  Mildmay  deaconesses  were  on 
board,  and  others,  who  were  leaving  their  work 
for  needful  rest  and  change.  Frances  said:  "Of 
course  we  shall  have  a  delightful  passage !  I  find 
these  dear  deaconesses  have  been  praying  for  it, 
and  so  have  the  dear  boys  at  Newport."  And  so 
it  was,  and  we  landed  at  Dieppe  before  the  usual 
time. 

Frances  walked  with  me  along  the  quaint  old 
quays,  and  it  was  curious  to  see  one  of  my  own 
names,  that  of  my  godmother,  "Vernon,"  on  an 
ancient  stone  building. 

No  need  to  describe  the  journey  through  Nor- 
mandy and  Paris  to  Lausanne,  where  we  slept  at 
the  Falcon  Hotel. 


322  SWISS   LETTERS. 

July  13. — By  steamer  on  the  Lake  of  Geneva  to 
Montreux,  where  Frances  landed  and  took  a  mule 
to  "  Les  Avants,"  to  call  on  Miss  E.  J.  Whately.  I 
went  on  to  the  castle  of  Chillon  to  wait  for  Frances, 
and  after  exploring  it  I  sat  down  by  the  lake.  A 
poor  Italian  woman  came  with  clothes  to  wash. 
She  told  me  her  husband  was  dead,  and  so  she 
was  alone,  "  alone  always,"  and  far  from  her  own 
country.  So  I  spoke  of  the  one  Friend  and 
Saviour,  ever  near,  ever  loving,  and  who  said,  "I 
will  never,  never  leave  thee."  She  readily  learnt 
a  text,  and  then  went  on  with  her  work.  It  was 
very  hot.  I  took  off  my  hat  and  rested  on  a 
bank;  presently  two  young  women  came  running 
to  see  what  was  the  matter:  "O  madame,  nous 
croyions  que  vous  etiez  morte  !  vous  vous  reposiez 
si  tranquillement."  I  thanked  them,  and  ex- 
plained I  was  only  tired  and  the  washerwoman 
was  within  call.  They  sat  down,  and  I  gave 
them  some  biscuits,  and  they  told  me  about  their 
homes  and  their  fruit  gatherings.  Then  I  drew 
a  little  parable  from  their  running  so  kindly  to 
help  a  stranger;  how  the  Good  Shepherd,  Jesus, 
saw  us  really  perishing;  how  He  pitied  us, 
and  came  down  close  to  us  in  our  souls'  sleep. 
That  He  would  not  leave  us  lying  there,  but 
would  bring  us  to  His  own  safe  fold,  if  we 
were    only    willing    to    "  follow    Him."     Let    me 


MEMORANDA    OF  TOUR  IN  1876.  323 

not  forget  to  pray  for  this  kind  Pauline  and 
Adelaide. 

Frances  returned  to  me  beaming;  saying,  "Miss 
Whately  is  all  and  more  than  I  expected.  Only 
it  was  tantalizing  to  meet  her,  and  yet  see  so  little 
of  her;  we  only  had  time  to  find  out  how  much 
there  was  to  talk  about.  Anyhow  she  is  no 
longer  one  of  my  unknown  specials !" 

We  went  on  to  Vernayaz.  It  was  late,  but  I 
went  through  the  Gorge  du  Trient.  Strange 
cryptlike  aisles  and  ceaseless  water  music. 

July  14. — Frances  awoke  me  at  four  a.m.,  and 
we  were  ready  before  our  guide  and  mule;  and 
then  Frances  gave  me  my  first  lesson  in  Swiss 
slow  paces,  so  unlike  the  Havergal  speed. 

The  vivid  coloring  of  the  flowers  was  new  to 
me;  they  seem  always  in  Sunday  dress  here, 
bright  and  fresh.  Halting  at  the  Pension  du 
Mont  Blanc  in  the  village  of  Finshauts,  Frances 
was  charmed  with  the  utter  quiet  of  the  valley, 
and  decided  to  stay  a  week.  Valerie  Longfat 
proved  a  most  attentive  waitress.  We  began  our 
Swiss  holiday  by  very  early  "  rising  and  setting," 
as  Frances  wished  me  to  get  into  good  training 
before  real  expeditions  came  on.  Our  usual 
morning  walk  brought  us  in  time  to  see  the  sun- 
rise on  Mont  Blanc.     Frances'  favorite  evening 


324  SWISS   LETTERS. 

stroll  was  to  a  fairy  glen  of  flowers  and  ferns; 
and  few  could  arrange  its  spoils  with  so  much 
taste.  The  little  chalets  around  looked  tempting 
to  me,  and  one  evening's  visit  led  to  many  more. 
Two  very  aged  women  were  sitting  in  their  shady 
porch;  one  of  them  said  she  was  "  la  vieillarde  de 
Finshauts,"  and  able  to  walk  about  with  her  "  bon 
baton."  I  answered;  "  One  good  stick  is  enough, 
a  dozen  would  only  throw  you  down;  now  just 
as  you  lean  on  one  stick,  so  do  lean  upon  the  one 
Saviour,  the  mighty  One,  the  strong  One.  Some 
lean  on  a  dozen  angels  and  saints  and  mediators, 
but  the  Bible  says,  '  There  is  one  God  and  one 
Mediator."'  She  seemed- to  catch  my  meaning, 
and  presently  several  of  her  neighbors  joined  us; 
so  I  proposed  they  should  bring  their  chairs,  and 
I  read  a  chapter.  These  little  open  air  services 
are  very  pleasant. 

Sunday,  July  16. — A  brilliant  cloudless  day. 
Many  peasants  came  by,  going  to  early  mass.  I 
sat  down  on  some  logs  of  wood,  and  made  a  seat 
for  any  one  who  would  like  to  rest.  All  returned 
my  salutations,  one  and  another  chatting  awhile, 
and  taking  tracts.  A  woman  asked  me  why  I 
did  not  go  with  them  to  mass.  I  told  her  I 
could  not  join  in  worshipping  the  host;  that  Jesus 
Christ  ascended   into  heaven;  that  His  glorified 


MEMORANDA    OF   TOUR   IN  1876.  325 

body  was  at  the  right  hand  of  God;  that  Stephen 
saw  Him  standing  there;  so  His  body  could  not 
be  in  heaven  and  in  a  wafer  too.  "But,"  she  said, 
11  I  think  you  love  Him."  "Ah,  yes  !  and  in  Eng- 
land I  do  take  bread  and  wine  in  remembrance 
of  His  great  love  to  me."  She  told  me  her  name 
was  Julie  Zacharie,  the  familiar  name  of  friends  in 
Worcestershire;  and  it  seems  her  ancestors  were 
English  ! 

After  mass  she  called  and  invited  me  to  see  her 
home,  a  curious  old  chalet:  thick  stone  walls,  and 
the  windows  so  narrow  that  I  could  only  dimly 
see  the  variety  of  images  and  pictures.  Julie 
showed  me  many  of  her  old  books.  Before 
leaving  I  asked  if  I  should  kneel  down  and 
pray  for  God's  blessing,  that  He  would  teach 
both  of  us. 

"  No,  no,  dear  lady;  I  am  just  come"  from  mass; 
I  have  taken  Jesus  there.  Dear  lady,  you  must 
believe  our  mass  is  a  miracle;  God  can  give  our 
priest  power  to  change  the  sign  into  the  real  body 
of  Jesus." 

"Show  me  in  your  Bible  where  God  promises 
to  do  this." 

"Oh,  it  is  in  our  '  Instructions  ' !  Madame,  do 
you  know  them  ?  " 

M  Yes,  I  was  reading  them  to-day.  The  Epis- 
tles, Gospels,  and  Psalms  are   God's  word,   but 


326  SWISS   LETTERS. 

not  the  '  Instructions.'  Give  me  your  book  and 
we  will  read  exactly  what  the  Lord  Jesus  said. 
Luke  xxii.  19:  '  Do  this  in  remembrance  of  Me.' 
What  did  they  then  do  ?  Ate  bread,  drank  wine. 
The  apostles  could  not  then  have  eaten  the  Lord's 
body,  for  He  was  sitting  alive  by  them;  hence,  as 
it  was  a  sign,  a  memorial  then,  it  must  be  the 
same  now.  Besides,  whatever  goes  in  my  mouth 
never  reaches  my  spirit,  my  affections;  so,  while 
taking  bread,  the  outward  sign,  in  my  mouth, 
in  my  heart  I  feed  on  Him  by  faith  with  thanks- 
giving." 

Julie  listened  and  said:  "Well,  we  do  both  love 
Him;  will  madame  come  with  me  this  evening  to 
my  chalet  by  the  river  ?  I  have  cows  there,  and 
madame  shall  take  cream." 

I  was  resting  upstairs  in  the  evening,  when  a 
knock  came  at  my  door,  and  Julie  appeared  in  my 
bedroom.  We  had  a  pleasant  talk,  and  then  she 
willingly  knelt  down  with  me.  May  the  Spirit 
shine  through  all  entangling  webs  ! 

Every  day  we  found  fresh  walks,  and  the  alpen- 
rose  blossomed  where  the  snow  was  yet  lingering. 
I  tried  crossing  a  snow  slope,  but  gave  it  up,  and 
watched  Frances'  agile  steps,  fearless  and  firm; 
now  I  can  understand  her  glissades  ! 

July  23. — Early  this  Sunday  morning  Frances 


MEMORANDA    OF  TOUR   IN  1876.  327 

wrote  "  Seulement  pour  Toi,"  and  as  our  hostess 
and  Valerie  had  often  listened  with  pleasure  to 
Frances  singing,  we  told  them  they  might  invite 
any  neighbors  to  assemble  at  three  o'clock,  for 
singing  and  Bible  reading.  But  by  two  o'clock 
arrivals  began,  charming  maidens  and  all  the  old 
peasants  we  had  chatted  with  in  the  week.  I 
would  not  disturb  Frances,  so  produced  pens  and 
paper  and  the  new  French  hymn  for  any  who 
would  like  to  copy  it,  this  answered  well.  For 
the  old  women  I  proposed  making  some  tea,  but 
Valerie  assured  me  no  one  ever  cared  for  it  ! 
Lemonade  seemed  a  more  welcome  idea,  and  was 
duly  appreciated.  There  was  one  sprightly  girl, 
Katrine,  whose  mischievous  laughter  betrayed  her 
dislike  to  our  plans.  But  even  Katrine  was  inter- 
ested when  I  produced  the  photographs  of  my 
Indian  orphans  in  the  Church  Missionary  school  at 
Agurparah.  The  histories  of  little  Daisy,  Maria, 
and  Monie  (now  called  Frances,  after  Frances 
Ridley  Havergal),  and  the  novelty  of  some  mission- 
ary information,  awakened  deep  interest. 
-  At  three  o'clock  the  room  was  full.  Frances 
began  by  giving  a  free  translation  of  her  hymn, 
"  Golden  Harps,"  and  singing  it.  Then  came 
"  Seulement  pour  Toi " ;  with  Frances'  lively 
encouragement,   this   was   soon   sung   en   masse. 


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Ma  con  -  fiance    en  -  ti  -  are    Veut  etre  en  Toi,    Seulement  en  Toi. 


Le  peche,  Tu  1'  as  porte" 

Seul,  seul  pour  moi; 
Et  Ton  sang  Tu  1'  as  verse" 

Seul,  seul  pour  moi. 
Toute  gloire,  toute  joie 

Sera  pour  Toi; 
Et  'esperance  et  la  foi 

Seront  en  Toi, 
Seulement  en  Toi. 

Aujourd'hui,  mon  cher  Seigneur, 

Acceptes-moi ! 
To  seul  es  mon  grand  Sauveur, 

Toi  seul  mon  Roi. 
Tous  mes  moments,  tous  mes  jours 

Seront  pour  Toi ! 
Jesus,  garde-moi  toujours 

Seulement  pour  Toi, 
Seulement  pour  Toi. 

Que  je  chante,  et  que  je  pleure, 

Seulement  pour  Toi ! 
Que  je  vive  et  que  je  meure 

Seulement  pour  Toi ! 
Jesus,  qui  m'as  tant  aime" 

Mourant  pour  moi, 
Toute  mon  eternite 

Sera  pour  Toi, 
Seulement  pour  Toi ! 


July  2^  1876. 


329 


330  SWISS   LETTERS. 

Frances  read,  in  French,  verses  from  the  third, 
fourth,  and  fifth  chapters  of  Romans,  giving 
a  few  sweet  linkings  of  the  same,  and  then 
asked  me  to  speak  to  them.  I  found  it  quite 
easy  to  address  in  French,  and  many  thanked 
me  afterwards. 

No  one  seemed  willing  to  kneel  for  the  con- 
cluding prayer.  I  would  not  begin  while  all  were 
sitting,  so  Valerie's  father  set  the  example,  vigor- 
ously saying,  "  Mettez-vous  tous  a  genoux."  A 
few  stayed  to  talk  to  us  afterwards. 

We  welcomed  our  tea,  though  the  old  women 
did  not.  Frances  said  she  wished  she  had  a  French 
Bible  that  she  might  put  references  to  "Seulement 
pour  Toi."  M.\  "Then  I  will  go  and  ask  monsieur 
the  cure  to  lend  us  one,  and  certainly  I  shall  give 
him  your  hymn."  F.\  "  Whatever  will  you  think 
of  next!  Marie,  do  you  mean  it?"  M.\  "I  do; 
besides  the  cure  has  been  on  my  mind  all  the 
week."  F.  (laughing):  "Then  ask  him  to  correct 
my  hymn." 

Away  I  went  to  the  priest's  house,  and  who 
should  open  the  door  but  the  mischievous  Katrine, 
evidently  amused  to  see  me  !  Giving  my  compli- 
ments to  the  cure  and  a  request  for  the  loan  of  a 
Bible,  he  returned  with  Katrine,  inviting  me  to  his 
study.  He  brought  the  Bible  in  four  large  volumes, 
inquiring  which  I  required.     I  told  him  we  had 


MEMORANDA    OF   TOUR  IN  lS/6.  33 1 

only  French  Testaments  with  us,  and  that  my  sister 
wished  to  put  references  to  a  hymn  she  had  written 
that  morning;  possibly  he  would  kindly  correct 
it.  After  reading  "  Seulement  pour  Toi,"  he  in- 
quired if  the  writer  was  French,  as  only  one  idiom 
was  incorrect.  He  was  extremely  pleasant,  and  I 
told  him  of  our  little  service,  adding  a  few  words 
on  the  preciousness  of  Christ  and  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures. Then  he  called  Katrine  and  bade  her  carry 
the  volumes  home  for  me. 

The  next  morning  we  walked  to  Argentiere. 
While  we  were  resting  under  a  tree  a  lady,  whom 
I  had  previously  seen  at  our  pension,  and  who 
wished  to  hear  Frances  sing,  came  by  on  her  mule. 
She  dismounted  and  joined  us,  and  at  my  request 
Frances  sang  to  her,  thus  ministering  to  one  who 
seemed  lonely  and  weary.  I  should  like  to  have 
known  the  name  of  this  solitary  traveller.  We 
stayed  some  days  at  Argentiere;  Mont  Blanc 
was  just  opposite  our  windows.  What  variety  of 
"rose  and  golden  crowns  descend  on  that  kingly 
mountain ! 

July  31. — Frances  walked  with  me  part  of  the 
way  to  La  Flegere;  she  returned  to  Argentiere. 
No  need  for  a  guide,  she  gives  me  such  clear 
directions.  Instead  of  sunset  on  Mont  Blanc 
sheet  lightning  kept  up  illumination  of  its  height, 


332  SWISS   LETTERS. 

while  the  aiguilles  flashed  as  if  cased  in  steel 
armor.  A  young  lady  from  Denmark  walked 
with  me  up  and  down  the  terrace.  I  told  her 
how  we  all  loved  our  beautiful  Princess  of  Wales. 
She  was  interested  to  hear  of  the  Bible,  given  her 
by  the  maidens  of  England,  and  that  led  to  her 
accepting  one  from  me.  Her  loyalty  was  as  lively 
as  mine. 

The  next  morning  was  dense  mist,  but  I  went 
on  to  the  Breven  by  breakfast  time.  Turning 
over  the  tourist's  book  I  found  my  sister's  entry, 
Aug.  2,  1871:  "F.  R.  Havergal  and  Elizabeth 
Clay.  Felt  exceedingly  triumphant  over  all  the 
tourists  at  Chamouni,  and  especially  over  those 
who  had  been  here  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  For 
from  seven  to  eight  p.m.,  while  they  were  in  the 
dusk  of  the  valley  and  probably  at  table  d'hote  by 
candlelight,  we  were  enjoying  a  glory  of  gold  and 
rose  upon  the  whole  chain  of  Mont  Blanc,  and 
watching  it  die  into  that  strange,  pale,  holy  after- 
light, which  is  almost  more  thrillingly  beautiful 
than  any  more  glowing  effect.  Furthermore  at 
4.30  a.m.  we  saw  the  first  touch  of  rose-fire  on 
the  crown  of  the  monarch." 

It  was  useless  to  wait  in  the  clouds,  so  I  went 
down  to  Chamouni;  suddenly,  through  the  pine 
woods,  Mont  Blanc  unveiled  in  silver.  I  walked 
on  to  Argentiere,  and  Frances  commended  me  for 


MEMORANDA    OF  TOUR  IN  1876.  333 

pushing  bravely  through  the  mist,  and  says  I  have 
the  bump  of  locality. 

August  3. — We  left  Argentiere,  walking  part  of 
the  way  with  the  Rev.  J.  H.  and  Mrs.  Rogers,  to 
the  Tete  Noire,  where  we  lunched.  I  rested,  but 
Frances  as  usual  found  ministering  work.  Then 
away  to  the  Gol  de  Forclaz,  a  satisfactory  dis- 
tance !  The  next  morning  we  walked  to  the 
Croix  de  Martigny,  and  then  turned  up  the  road 
towards  St.  Bernard,  and  slept  at  Lembranchier. 

August  5. — By  diligence  to  Orsiere,  interesting 
ride;  all  the  travellers  joined  in  singing  "Seule- 
ment  pour  Toi,"  and  even  the  driver  tried  to  sing 
the  bass,  whereon  Frances  jumped  up  by  him; 
I  do  think  she  would  make  any  one  sing. 

We  reached  the  Hospice  of  St.  Bernard  on 
Saturday,  and  were  gracefully  received  by  the 
good  Father  Hess. 

Sunday,  August  6. — Clear  cloudless  sunshine. 
Sat  under  the  rocks  with  Frances,  reading  Exod. 
xxxiii.  21,  22,  of  that  rock  and  that  cleft  in  the 
rock,  where  the  glory  "passed  by,"  connecting  it 
with  John  xvii.  24,  the  glory  which  will  not  pass 
away,  but  which  we  shall  behold  for  ever. 

When  the  chapel  bells  tolled  for  mass,  Frances 


334  SWISS   LETTERS. 

said  that  for  once  she  should  like  to  try  joining  in 
the  service.  I  did  not  go,  having  tried  it,  and  felt 
utterly  wretched  and  the  clearest  conviction  I  was 
grieving  God.  In  half  an  hour  Frances  returned 
distressed  with  the  service,  and  expressed  her  grief 
that  Protestant  tourists  often  join  in  that  form 
which  involves  downright  error  and  idolatry.  Nor 
did  she  find  the  music  soothing  or  elevating,  it  was 
"just  aggravating  and  monotonous."  Just  then 
five  St.  Bernard  dogs  came  out;  they  barked  at 
me,  but  immediately  caressed  Frances:  instinctive 
discernment !  There  were  many  groups  of  peas- 
ants scattered  about;  they  seemed  to  make  this 
a  picnic  pilgrimage,  receiving  food  and  lodging. 
We  made  sundry  friends;  even  a  large  group  of 
card  players  put  their  cards  away  and  thanked 
us  for  civil  warnings.  Leaflets  and  portions  were 
glady  received.  At  four  p.m.  Frances,  a  traveller 
from  Boston,  and  I  enjoyed  a  service  in  the  very 
hush  of  those  rocky  aisles  and  vast  icy  temples. 
Frances  chose  Psalm  xxii.  31  and  Psalm  xxiii., 
also  Zephaniah  iii. 

After  dinner  Frances  sang,  by  request  of  Father 
Hess,  "Comfort  ye,"  then  "Seulement  pour  Toi," 
in  which  many  joined.  Being  asked  to  sing  her 
own  music  she  gave,  "Whom  having  not  seen  ye 
love."  It  was  evidently  thrilling  to  all,  and  Signor 
Luigi  and   others  expressed  their  admiration  to 


MEMORANDA    OF   TOUR   IN  1 87 6.  335 

me.     They  didn't  know  how  Frances  had  prayed 
that  her  song  might  be  a  King's  message. 

August  8. — Walked  back  to  Orsiere. 

gth. — Explored  the  Val  de  Feri.  I  will  detail 
an  incident  illustrative  of  many  others.  I  always 
carry  a  tiny  kettle  and  tea,  for  our  refreshment. 
The  wind  blew  out  my  pine  cone  fire,  so  we  went 
to  a  chalet  for  boiling  water.  The  little  maiden 
put  brown  bread,  which  required  chopping,  and 
goat's  cheese  on  the  table.  She  had  never  tasted 
tea,  and  did  not  seem  to  like  it  at  all. 

I  asked  Constance  *  if  there  was  any  one  ill  in 
the  village. 

"Yes,  little  Aline;  she  used  to  lie  alone  all  day 
long,  till  I  asked  her  father  to  put  the  key  under 
a  stone,  that  I  might  get  in.  Aline  has  no 
mother." 

I  followed  Constance  up  some  dark  stairs  into 
a  room  like  a  hay  loft.  A  little  tired  face  looked 
up  from  the  rough  bed: 

"  Oh,  Marie  !  I  am  so  ill;  is  father  come  ?  He 
went  away  so  early." 

Alone,  alone,  locked  up  in  that  cold  loft,  some 
greasy  soup  in  a  can,  and  a  hard  crust  !     Dear 

*  Marie  Constance  Jodant,  in  the  village  of  Isere  pres  d'Orsiere. 


336  SWISS   LETTERS. 

little  Aline  !  I  sat  down  by  her  and  fed  her  with 
some  jelly  and  biscuits,  and  sent  Constance  for 
some  new  milk.  I  took  the  thin  hot  hand  and 
said  in  French: 

"Dear  Aline,  there  is  One  who  loves  you  very 
much;  the  kind,  good  Jesus;  do  you  know  Him?" 

Yes,  she  knew  the  name  of  Jesus,  and  that  He 
died  on  the  cross;  but  she  did  not  seem  to  know 
it  really  was  for  her,  in  her  stead.  She  seemed 
to  drink  in  all  that  was  said,  and  learnt  this 
prayer:  "Lord  Jesus,  wash  me  in  Thy  blood;  take 
me  in  Thy  arms." 

I  don't  think  Aline  will  be  hungry  again,  for  it 
was  easy  to  arrange  for  a  supply  of  milk.  And 
Victorine,  the  daughter  of  our  hotel  keeper  at 
Orsiere,  promised  to  go  often  and  take  her 
nourishing  food.  Meanwhile  Frances  had  been 
at  work  in  a  chalet;  I  cannot  recount  half  she 
does  ! 

August  10. — Walked  up  to  the  Lac  de  Champe, 
and  the  next  morning  Frances  found  the  way 
through  the  Gorge  du  Durnand;  we  always  enjoy 
unknown  routes.  Thence  to  Martigny,  and  by 
diligence  to  Champery,  where  we  remained  till 
August  28th. 

At  Champery  the  delightful  ministrations  of 
Mr.  Rogers,  the  chaplain,  new  friendships,  and 


MEMORANDA    OF   TOUR   IN  1876.  ^7 

Frances'  incessant  ministries,  whether  by  song,  or 
conversation,  or  Bible  reading,  filled  up  every 
day.  One  evening,  after  playing  the  Moonlight 
Sonata,  an  aged  German  lady  assured  me  that  it 
quite  recalled  Beethoven's  own  rendering  of  it. 

After  leaving  Champery,  via  Berne  and  Inter- 
lachen,  we  stayed  at  the  Pension  Schonfels.  The 
pressure  of  letters  seemed  to  follow  Frances 
everywhere,  and  I  remember  how  goodnaturedly 
she  corrected  roll  after  roll  of  poetical  composi- 
tions by  a  stranger,  although  she  was  suffering 
extremely  from  the  effects  of  being  caught  in  a 
thunderstorm  in  an  excursion  from  Champery. 
While  staying  at  the  Pension  Schonfels*  the  Bar- 
oness von  Cramm,  and  Miss  Carmichael,  joined 
us,  from  Champery.  Poor  Frances  could  not  join 
in  any  excursions,  nor  did  she  attempt  writing 
any  circular  letters,  as  in  former  tours.  She  told 
me  that  in  writing  those  circulars  she  rather 
avoided  expressing  either  the  spiritual  or  the 
poetical  ideas  suggested;  so  she  wrote  "  Holiday 
Work,"  and  "Our  Swiss  Guide,"  as  glimpses  of  her 
practical  work  for  Christ,  and  those  celestial  rev- 
elations, which  Alpine  scenery  constantly  un- 
folded to  her  mind.  It  was  at  this  time,  how- 
ever, that  she  wrote  the  following  sonnet  to  her 
friend  the  Baroness  Helga  von  Cramm. 


338  SWISS  IE  ITERS. 

TO  HELGA. 

Come  down,  and  show. the  dwellers  far  below 
What  God  is  painting  in  each  mountain  place ! 
Show  His  fair  colors,  and  His  perfect  grace, 

Dowering  each  blossom  born  of  sun  and  snow: 

His  tints,  not  thine !     Thou  art  God's  copyist, 
O  gifted  Helga !     His  thy  golden  height, 
Thy  purple  depth,  thy  rosy  sunset  light, 

Thy  blue  snow-shadows,  and  thy  weird  white  mist. 

Reveal  His  works  to  many  a  distant  land ! 

Paint  for  His  praise,  oh  paint  for  love  of  Him  ! 

He  is  thy  Master,  let  Him  hold  thy  hand, 
So  thy  pure  heart  no  cloud  of  self  shall  dim. 

At  His  dear  feet  lay  down  thy  laurel-store, 

Which  crimson  proof  of  thy  redemption  bore. 
September  igtA,  1876. 

A  letter  has  been  sent  to  me,  written  about 
this  time,  which  may  interest  some. 

Pension  Schsnfels. 

My  very  dear  Margaret: 

I  can't  tell  you  how  your  letter  touched  me.  I 
never  thought  He  would  let  me  give  you  a  lift,  who 
were  already  so  bright  and  devoted.  I  tried  to 
help  other  folks  at  Champery,  but  I  did  not  try 
with  you,  only  just  said  what  came  uppermost. 
Oh  I  am  so  glad  you  see  the  "only  for  Jesus"  in 
its  special  power.  Having  seen  it,  one  wants  to 
live  it  out,  simply  and  entirely,  and  we  can  only  go 
on  trusting  the  Lord  Jesus  hour  by  hour  to  show  us 


MEMORANDA    OF  TOUR  IN  1S/6.  339 

how.  I  wonder  what  He  is  going  to  show  us  next, 
dear  M.!  for  He  has  so  many  things  to  say  to  us, 
as  we  can  bear  them.  We  have  been  guided  to  a 
wonderfully  quiet  pension,  off  the  usual  beat. 
Seven  Germans  here,  only  one  of  whom  can  speak 
any  English.  In  answer  to  your  query:  well,  I'll 
see  about  it;  and  if  I  can  get  a  chance  of  being 
decently  photographed  I  will  send  you  a  copy; 
but  I  am  sure  you  won't  like  it,  because  the  pre- 
vailing tone  of  my  results  under  photographic 
torture  is,  "  resignation  under  afflictive  dispensa- 
tions ! "  which  a  cheerful  friend  suggested  as  the 
most  suitable  inscription  on  my  photos,  of  which 
she  declined  to  accept  one!  "  Query  No.  3:  "  This 
is  not  your  rest "  really  does  seem  to  be  written 
on  every  attempt  I  make  to  find  a  quiet  perch  (as 
for  a  nest,  I  don't  dream  of  that).  If  one  set  of 
fatigues  is  done  with,  another  arises,  personal  or 
postal;  but  I  really  stand  as  good  a  chance  here 
as  anywhere,  I  think,  so  that  will  be  a  relief  to 
your  mind.  And  it  has  been  enforced  the  last  two 
days,  because  I  left  Champery  with  a  sharp  sore 
throat,  which  developed  into  that  sort  of  cold  that 
has  made  me  totally  stupefied  yesterday  and  to- 
day, and  I  have  been  in  bed  a  good  many  extra 
hours.     It  was  such  a  pleasure  to  meet  you  and 

dear  Edith  at   C ;  it   is   such  a  pleasure  to 

recollect  it,  and  will  be  ditto  if  we  can  some  fine 


340  SWISS    LETTERS. 

day  come  over  and  see  you  again.  I  think  Maria 
is  more  likely  to  be  free  to  do  so  than  I.  I  am  not 
quite  so  freely  situated  as  she  is,  and  have  far 
more  arrears  to  make  up  too,  of  long-  promised 
visits,  as  my  long  invalidism  has  thrown  me  far 
behindhand  in  that  respect;  and  being  seldom 
strong  enough  for  any  winter  travelling  limits 
my  time  for  getting  through  my  visits. 
Yours  lovingly, 

F.  R.  H. 

When  she  was  better,  we  went  to  the  village  of 
Eizenflou,  hoping  for  a  fine  sunrise  on  the  Jung- 
frau.  A  feverish  cold  detained  me  there.  Frances 
went  to  the  village  schoolmaster  and  secured  the 
use  of  his  schoolroom  for  a  service  the  next  even- 
ing, as  her  spirit  was  stirred  up  by  finding  no 
pastor  ever  came  near  these  villages,  and  they  were 
five  miles  from  church.  The  evening  was  wet,  and 
I  wanted  Frances  not  to  go;  but  she  said,  "I  may 
never  come  here  again;  and  no  man  cares  for 
these  scattered  sheep."  The  room  was  quite  full. 
Frances  addressed  them  in  German  from  I  John  i. 
7,  and  also  led  the  hymns  from  their  chorale  book. 
Our  hostess'  report  was:  " Never,  no  never,  had 
any  one  told  them  what  the  dear  young  lady  did; 
it  was  wonderful !  They  never  could  forget  her 
words;  and  surely  she  must  be  a  born  German  !  " 


MEMORANDA    OF  TOUR  IN  1876.  34 1 

From  Schonfels,  we  went  to  the  Pension  Wen- 
gen,  above  Lauterbrunnen,  for  several  weeks. 

October  1. — Unclouded  sunshine.  The  Jungfrau 
and  Silberhorn  were  radiant.  Frances  remarked, 
44  It  will  be  one  of  the  new  delights  of  heaven  to 
be  able  to  express  all  one's  thoughts."  The  next 
day  we  took  horses  to  the  Scheideck  Hotel.  After 
resting,  we  rode  up  the  Lauberhorn,  with  Hans 
Lauener  for  our  guide.  He  seemed  such  a  nice 
fellow,  and  sang  some  French  hymns  with  Fran- 
ces, on  the  top  of  the  mountain. 

I  had  the  audacity  to  sketch  the  Silberhorn  for 
Mary  Fay.  In  the  evening  Frances  called  me  to 
watch  the  singular  effect  of  the  moon  rising  be- 
hind sharp  jutting  rocks;  the  silver  rays  of  an  in- 
visible but  coming  presence  were  most  striking. 

Another  day  we  went  to  the  Mettlen  Alp, 
which  Frances  thinks  the  finest  view  in  Switz- 
erland, through  pine  woods,  and  then  I  stood 
with  her  on  the  silver  steps  of  the  Jungfrau's 
throne.  What  then  ?  Avalanches  and  our  silent 
Alleluias  !  Here  it  may  be  of  interest  to  quote 
copy  of  the  entry  in  the  visitors'  book,  at  Pen- 
sion Wengen: 

Summer  returned;  cloudless  sky.  Thermometer  from  ninety  to 
one  hundred  degrees  during  our  stay.  Obliging  attentions,  honest 
charges,   and    tried   truthfulness.     The    Mettlen   Alp   stands  out  in 


342  SWISS   LETTERS. 

picturesque   beauty.     "All  Thy  works   praise    Thee."     Avalanche 
Alleluias  will  long  echo  in  English  homes. 

Maria  V.  G.  Havergal. 

Frances  Ridley  Havergal. 
Sept.  2yd  till  Oct.   16th,  1876. 

This  was  Frances'  last  excursion;  her  health 
entirely  failed. 

October  8. — Frances  in  acute  pain  all  day,  and 
could  not  get  up  at  all.  She  wrote  the  hymn,  "I 
take  this  pain,  Lord  Jesus."  They  brought  luke- 
warm water  for  fomentations,  so  I  dived  into  the 
kitchen  and  secured  a  saucepan,  gathered  pine 
cones  and  wood,  and  got  leave  to  use  the  salon 
stove  night  and  day. 

October  9  and  10. — Frances  moaning  all  day, 
but  so  wonderfully  patient,  even  in  sleepless 
nights.  I  could  not  say  "  Thy  will  be  done,"  till 
she  spoke  so  sweetly  of  texts  that  hush  and  glad- 
den her.  She  verily  exults  in  that  declaration,  "  I 
love,  I  love  my  Master"  (Exod.  xxi.  5),  connecting 
it  with  Rev.  xxii.  6,  "  shall  serve  Him  for  ever." 

October  12. — Tried  camomile  fomentations,  at 
midnight,  and  darling  Frances  so  grateful;  I  never 
nursed  any  one  so  uncomplaining.  Reading  to 
her,  "  Let  Thy  judgments  help  me,"  I  asked  her 


MEMORANDA    OF  TOUR   IN  1876.  343 

what  it  meant.  She  said,  "  I  think  God's  judg- 
ments prove  our  faith,  forcing  us  to  trust  more,  to 
lean  more.  'Help,'  because  He  comes  so  very 
close,  helps  us  when  no  one  else  can." 

Madame  Lauener,  the  mother  of  our  host,  often 
came  up  to  Frances'  room.  She  is  intensely  fond 
of  Frances,  and  repeats  Scripture  in  German,  and 
prays  most  soothingly  by  her. 

October  13. — Mrs.  Simpson  (English  Pension) 
came  all  the  way  from  Interlachen,  bringing 
remedies,  fruit  and  jelly  for  Frances;  so  extremely 
kind,  as  we  are  comparative  strangers. 

Frances  sent  for  me  to  hear  Madame  Lauener 
repeat  from  memory  the  seventh  chapter  of  the 
Revelation.  Such  a  picture  !  through  the  window 
the  glisten  of  the  snowy  Silberhorn,*  on  the  pillow 
dear  Frances  and  her  golden  curls;  by  her  side 
the  aged  woman,  who  with  beaming  eye  and 
waving  hand  emphasized  those  wonderful  words; 
truly  it  brought  a  glimpse  of 

11  When  robed  in  white  before  Thee, 
Without  one  stain  or  tear, 
Shall  all  Thy  saints  adore  Thee, 
'Midst  wonder,  love,  and  fear." 

(Rev.    W.  H.  H.) 

*  See  Frontispiece. 


344  SWISS   LETTERS. 

Sunday,  October  15. — Frances  was  decidedly 
better,  and  able  to  take  a  few  steps  in  the  sunshine. 
Her  comment,  on  "For  His  mercy  endureth  for 
ever,"  was,  "  that  is,  every  day."  It  seemed  uncer- 
tain if  we  could  leave  next  day,  but  it  is  impossible 
to  fidget  about  anything  when  with  Frances.  She 
playfully  said,  "Now,  Marie,  can't  you  leave  me 
entirely  to  our  Father  !  "  Another  time  I  was 
anxious,  and  she  put  her  hand  on  mine:  "Marie 
dear,  just  trust !  Jesus  is  with  us,  all  must  come 
right. 

October  16. — Frances  better,  and  able  to  leave  in 
a  chaise  a  porteur  to  Lauterbrunnen,  from  whence 
she  enjoyed  the  drive  to  Interlachen.  From  the 
lake  of  Thun  the  snowy  mountains  of  the  Bernese 
Oberland  brightened  into  sunset  glory,  and  we 
saw  them  no  more. 

October  18. — Left  Basle  through  Alsace;  the 
Vosges  mountains  were  dimly  outlined,  and  then 
we  went  through  a  pancake  country  with  straight 
roads  and  fields,  and  straight  poplars,  to  Stras- 
bourg. 

October  19. — Frances  was  too  tired  to  go  out,  so 
I  raced  round  Strasbourg.  I  was  extremely  inter- 
ested in  the  flower  market,  and  had  sundry  talks 
with  the  women.     I  took  a  diligence  to  get  a  sight 


MEMORANDA    OF  TOUR   IN  1876.  345 

of  the  Rhine,  and,  walking  back  by  a  short  cut, 
got  into  the  fortifications.  The  captain  was  most 
polite,  and  allowed  me  to  speak  to  a  few  soldiers, 
giving  them  a  rapid  outline  of  what  the  Captain 
of  our  salvation  did,  and  does. 

The  cathedral  is  magnificent,  but  it  is  so  in- 
tensely grievous  to  see  the  shrines.  One  lady 
kept  lighting  little  tapers  at  the  Virgin's  shrine, 
and  another  young  girl  seemed  quite  faint  with 
kneeling;  she  came  and  sat  by  me,  and  I  had  an 
interesting  talk  with  her. 

We  then  left  for  Brussels,  and  arrived  in  Eng- 
land October  20th.  The  21st  from  London  to 
Winterdyne  via  Oxford.  Just  after  leaving  Ox- 
ford Frances  startled  me  with:  "  Marie  !  I  see  it 
all;  I  can  write  a  little  book,  '  My  King  ! ' " 

That  herald  light  was  in  her  eye,  which  ever 
betokens  some  direct  communication  from  her 
King.  And  the  following  letter  to  M.  A.  C. 
shows  how  prayerfully  she  afterwards  wrote  it, 
trusting  for  every  word  to  be  given  her. 

November  I,   1876.     Oakhampton. 

1  I  REALLY  cannot  let  this  be  "gratis,"  though 
the  next  shall  be.  I  am  so  delighted  and  thank- 
ful to  hear  that  you  really  are  going  to  give  the 
whole  winter  to  God's  work,  and  that  Miss  de 
K.  has  joined  you,  and  that  you  will  be  strength- 


346  SWISS   LETTERS. 

ening  the  hands  of  dear  Miss  Leigh,  in  Paris. 
Altogether,  your  letter  has  made  me  very  happy 
and  very  grateful. 

I  am  better  now,  but  was  far  worse  after  you  left 
us  at  Schonfels.  Two  attacks  in  succession,  the 
second  causing  nearly  a  week  of  terrible  prostrat- 
ing pain.  This  day  three  weeks  I  could  not  even 
stand  alone !  So  the  only  thing  seemed  to  be  to 
seize  the  very  first  day  of  being  anyhow  able  to 
begin  the  journey  from  Pension  Wengen,  and  get 
at  least  a  stage  or  two  nearer  home,  which  we  did; 
and  though  we  had  to  take  a  week  about  it,  and  I 
was  very  ill  on  the  way,  we  were  brought  safely 
to  England.  I  am  now  at  my  eldest  sister's,  get- 
ting up  my  strength  delightfully,  and  able  for 
walks  in  the  garden.  Maria  is  quite  renovated, 
and  sleeps  and  eats  properly,  in  spite  of  the  really 
heavy  strain  upon  her  to  have  had  to  nurse  me 
night  and  day  while  really  very  ill.  Maria  is  not 
going  to  take  to  herself  another  wife  at  all  (since 
E.  Clay's  departure  to  India),  so,  after  all,  you 
won't  have  the  pain  of  being  superseded.  She  is 
going  to  live  at  Winterdyne  for  some  time,  and 
this  is  an  immense  satisfaction  to  us  all. 

Do  you  ever  have  time  to  pray  for  other  people's 
work,  now  that  you  have  so  much  before  you  ? 
Because,  if  so,  will  you  ask  that  He  would  give 
me  special  help  in  a  little  book  which  I  want  to 


MEMORANDA    OF  TOUR  IN  l8j6.  347 

write,  as  He  may  give  me  strength.  The  title 
will  be  simply  "My  King,"  and  it  will  be  little 
daily  thoughts  for  a  month,  (uniform  with  the 
"  Bells"  and  "  Pillows,"  only  for  grown  up  folk,) 
on  thirty-one  texts,  all  from  the  Old  Testament, 
about  our  King.  It  is  such  a  delicious  subject, 
and  I  have  so  enjoyed  the  mere  looking  out  of 
the  texts  about  it,  while  not  yet  strong  enough 
for  serious  writing;  but  I  am  not  sufficient  for 
these  things,  and  never  felt  more  deeply  my  own 
insufficiency.  Only  the  idea  of  the  book  came  so 
very  forcibly  to  my  mind  that  I  could  not  but 
think  He  had  sent  it  me;  and  so  I  have  done  what 
I  never  did  before,  shelved  the  little  work  I  al- 
ready had  on  hand,  to  do  this  first.  I  will  send 
you  one  of  the  texts,  because  possibly  you  might 
not  have  thought  of  it,  and  it  seems  so  nice  for 
use.  2  Sam.  xix.  20:  the  knowledge  that  Shimei 
had  sinned  being  the  very  reason,  not  for  keeping 
away,  but  for  coming  the  first  of  all  to  meet  the 
king.  I  took  it  as  the  text  for  a  little  talk  with 
the  servants  here,  and  never  found  a  more  telling 
one.  The  2nd  Book  of  Samuel  is  full  of  exquisite 
typical  texts.  The  headings  of  the  little  daily 
portions  will  be  such  as  "  The  Friendship  of  the 
King,"  "Decision  for  the  King,"  "The  Business 
of  the  King,"  "The  Banquet  of  the  King," 
"  Speaking  to   the   King." 


348  SWISS   LETTERS. 

It  is  so  utterly  bumptious  of  me  to  think  of 
writing  for  grown  ups  at  all,  much  more  on  such 
a  theme,  that  I  feel  more  entirely  shut  up  to  ask- 
ing and  trusting  for  every  word  of  it,  than  I  ever 
did  before. 

Please  give  my  love  to  dear  Miss  Leigh.  I 
owe  her  ever  such  a  debt  of  gratitude  for  her 
kindness,  and  most  helpful  influence,  with  one 
o'f  my  dear  nieces. 

Good    bye,    dearest    Margaret;    Paris    is    not 

"  among  plants  and  hedges,"  but  may  you  there 

dwell  with  the  King,  for  His  work.     Love  to  dear 

Edith  when  you  write. 

Yours  ever, 

F.  R.  H. 


Two  years  passed  away,  and  I  again  visited  the 
Pension  Wengen,  in  1878,  with  Mrs.  Usborne  and 
Miss  Cowan.  Knowing  how  much  my  sister 
F.  R.  H.  was  loved  there,  I  took  care,  when  writ- 
ing for  rooms,  to  say  she  was  not  coming,  lest  they 
should  be  disappointed.  But  they  did  not  notice 
it,  and  so  the  grandmother  eagerly  expected  her 
beloved  Fraulein  Fannie.  When  I  arrived,  there 
she  stood,  smiling  a  welcome,  but  pointed  up, 
saying,  "  O  mein  Hans  !  "  Then  she  went  to  meet 
the  other  horses,  searching  for  F.,  till  seeing  she 
was  not  come,  her  wail  was  quite  touching:   "  O 


MEMORANDA    OF   TOUR   IN  1876.  349 

my  beloved,  my  Fraulein  Fannie,  where  are  you  ? 
why  are  you  not  come  to  comfort  me  ? "  Her 
countenance  was  still  beautiful,  but  there  was  now 
a  far  off  look  in  her  eyes,  sorrow  for  some  one 
gone.  And  so  it  was;  her  son  Hans,  our  bright 
young  guide  to  the  Mettlin  Alp  and  the  Lauber- 
horn,  had  met  with  an  accident  and  died.  His 
mother  and  brother  gave  me  the  following  par- 
ticulars. 

All  the  winter  Hans  had  been  most  active  in 
relieving  the  peasants  and  going  to  their  scattered 
chalets  with  soup  and  food,  often  through  deep 
snow.  There  is  a  society  here  for  that  purpose, 
and  Hans  was  its  most  useful  member. 

Some  of  the  mountain  land  and  pine  woods, 
adjoining  the  Pension  Wengen,  belonged  to  him 
and  his  brother  Ulrich.  These  pines  are  thinned, 
cut  down,  and  taken  into  the  valley  beneath,  and 
there  sawn  into  planks.  After  the  branches  are  cut 
off,  the  pines  are  brought  to  the  glissade,  which  is 
formed  by  the  freezing  of  some  mountain  stream, 
over  which  lies  a  deep  bed  of  frozen  snow.  On  the 
morning  of  March  5th,  1878,  Hans,  his  brother 
Ulrich,  and  twenty  men  were  thus  at  work.  It 
requires  great  skill  to  steer  the  pine  and  keep  it 
steadily  in  its  torrent  slide.  Hans  was  ever  the 
first,  enjoying  the  dash  of  power  requisite  to  guide 
the   giant   pine  down  that  icy  path.     But  in   a 


350  SWISS    LETTERS. 

moment  the  pine  swayed  out  of  its  course,  Hans 
was  struck  down,  the  whole  weight  of  the  pine 
crushing  his  side  and  leg.  A  mattress  and  pillows 
were  brought,  his  brother  wisely  taking  him  at 
once  to  Lauterbrunnen,  where  he  would  be  nearer 
a  doctor  than  at  home.  Skilfully  was  he  carried 
to  the  Hotel  Staubbach,  and  a  telegram  soon 
brought  doctors  from  Interlachen.  But  nothing 
could  be  done,  the  loss  of  blood  was  too  great  to 
allow  of  amputation.  Hans  was  calm  and  patient, 
though  in  agony.  He  told  them  that  "  he  had  his 
passport  all  ready,  that  he  saw  the  path  of  life 
before  him,  and  he  was  quite  sure  he  was  in  it." 

He  lived  three  days,  during  which  the  pastor, 
who  was  rationalistic,  visited  Hans,  and  the  words 
of  the  dying  guide  spoke  of  a  better  hope.  Hans 
told  him,  that  no  works,  no  merit,  no  good  and 
noble  life,  gave  him  any  comfort  now,  but  it  was 
the  sacrifice  of  Jesus  on  the  cross,  and  the  precious 
blood  there  shed  to  put  away  sin,  that  was  his 
"passport." 

"  It  is  believing  in  Jesus  Christ  brings  me  this 
joy. .  Without  the  blood  that  atones  for  sin,  I  could 
not  stand  accepted  before  the  throne." 

The  pastor  heard  and  believed;  this  testimony 
brought  new  light  and  life  to  him,  and  a  crown  to 
the  dying  Hans.  (Since  then  his  sermons  are  quite 
evangelistic.)     His  only  sorrow  was  to  leave  his 


MEMORANDA    OF   TOUR   IN  1876.  35 1 

mother  and  brother,  but  even  then  he  comforted 
them*  "God  has  prepared  a  place  also  for  you  my 
brother.  Mother,  my  mother,  there  is  only  a  short 
course  for  you  to  run."  Hans  spoke  of  F.  R.  H., 
and  more  than  once  sang  the  hymn  in  which  they 
had  joined  on  the  heights  of  the  Lauberhorn. 

"Vers  le  ciel,  vers  le  del, 

J'entends,  Jesus,  Ton  appel, 
O  mon  cceur,  vers  toi  s'elance 
Dans  la  joyeuse  esperance 
De  se  voir,  Emmanuel !  " 

And  then  with  the  ancient  passport  of  "  the 
blood,"  the  young  guide  passed  upward,  and 
entered  in  "  through  the  gates  into  the  city." 
He  died  March  8th,   1878. 

It  is  now  October,  1881,  and  in  F.  R.  H.'s 
study  there  lies  her  motto  card,  "  My  own  text," 
identical  with  the  dying  guide's  "passport,"  "The 
blood  of  Jesus  Christ  His  Son  cleans^  us  from 
all  sin"  (1  John  i.  7). 


XIV. 

THE    VOICE   OF  MANY   WATERS. 

Far  away  I  heard  it, 

Stealing  through  the  pines, 
Like  a  whisper  saintly, 
Falling  dimly,  faintly, 

Through  the  terraced  vines. 

Freshening  breezes  bore  it 

Down  the  mountain  slope; 
So  I  turned  and  listened, 
While  the  sunlight  glistened 

On  the  snowy  cope. 

Far  away  and  dreamy 

Was  the  voice  I  heard; 
Yet  it  pierced  and  found  me, 
Through  the  voices  round  me — 

Song  without  a  word. 

All  the  life  and  turmoil, 

All  the  busy  cheer, 
Melted  in  the  flowing 
Of  that  murmur,  growing, 

Claiming  all  my  ear. 

What  the  mountain-message 

I  could  never  tell; 
Such  ^Eolian  fluting 
Hath  no  language  suiting 

What  we  write  and  spell. 


THE   VOICE    OF  MANY  WATERS.  353 

Rather  did  it  enter 

Where  no  words  can  win, 
Touching  and  unsealing 
Springs  of  hidden  feeling 

Slumbering  deep  within. 

Voice  of  many  waters, 

Only  heard  afar ! 
Hushing,  luring  slowly, 
With  an  influence  holy, 

Like  the  orient  star. 


Follow  where  it  lead&h, 
Till  we  stand  below, 
While  the  noble  thunder 
Wins  the  hush  of  wonder, 
Silent  in  its  glow. 

Light  and  sound  triumphant 

Fill  the  eye  and  ear; 
Every  pulse  is  beating 
Quick,  unconscious  greeting 
To  the  vision  near. 

Rainbow  flames  are  wreathing 

In  the  dazzling  foam, 
Fancy  far  transcending, 
Power  and  beauty  blending 
In  their  radiant  home. 

All  the  dreamy  longing 
Passes  out  of  sight, 
In  a  swift  surrender 
To  the  joyous  splendor 

Of  this  song  of  might. 


354  SWISS    LETTERS. 

Self  is  lost  and  hidden 
As  it  peals  along; 
Fevered  introspection, 
Paler-browed  reflection 
Vanished  in  the  song. 

For  the  spirit,  lifted 

From  the  dulling  mists, 
Takes  a  stronger  moulding, 
As  the  sound,  unfolding, 
Bears  it  where  it  lists. 

Voice  of  many  waters ! 

Must  we  turn  away 
From  the  crystal  chorus 
Now  resounding  o'er  us, 

Through  the  flashing  spray? 


Far  away  we  hear  it, 

Floating  from  the  sky; 

Mystic  echo,  falling 

Through  the  stars,  and  calling 
From  the  thrones  on  high. 

There  are  voices  round  us, 
Busy,  quick,  and  loud; 
All  day  long  we  hear  them, 
We  are  still  so  near  them, 
Still  among  the  crowd. 

Yet  athwart  the  clamor 

Falls  it,  faint  and  sweet, 
Like  the  softest  harp-tone, 
Passing  every  sharp  tone 
Down  the  noisy  street. 


THE   VOICE    OF  MANY  WATERS.  355 

To  the  soul-recesses 

Cleaving  then  its  way, 
Waking  hidden  yearning, 
Unwilled  impulse  turning 

To  the  far  away. 

Far  away  and  viewless, 

Yet  not  all  unknown; 
In  the  murmur  tracing 
Soft  notes  interlacing 

With  familiar  tone. 

So  we  start  and  listen ! 

While  the  murmur  low 
Falleth  ever  clearer, 
Swelleth  fuller,  nearer, 

In  melodious  flow. 

Voice  of  many  waters 

From  the  height  above, 
Hushing,  luring  slowly, 
With  its  influence  holy, 

With  its  song  of  love  ! 


Following  where  it  leadeth, 
Pilgrim  feet  shall  stand, 
Where  the  holy  millions 
Throng  the  fair  pavilions 
In  the  Glorious  land. 

Where  the  sevenfold  "Worthy 

Hails  the  King  of  kings, 
Blent  with  golden  clashing 
Of  the  crowns,  and  flashing 
Of  cherubic  wines: 


!   II 


356  SWISS    LETTERS. 

Rolls  the  Amen  Chorus, 
Old,  yet  ever  new; 
Seal  of  blest  allegiance, 
Pledge  of  bright  obedience, 
Seal  that  God  is  true. 

Through  the  solemn  glory 

Alleluias  rise, 
Mightiest  exultation, 
Holiest  adoration, 

Infinite  surprise. 

There  immortal  powers 

Meet  immortal  song; 
Heavenly  image  bearing, 
Angel-essence  sharing, 
Excellent  and  strong. 

Strong  to  bear  the  glory 

And  the  veil-less  sight, 
Strong  to  swell  the  thunders 
And  to  know  the  wonders 
Of  the  home  of  light. 

Voice  of  many  waters  ! 

Everlasting  laud  ! 
Hark,  it  rushes  nearer, 
Every  moment  clearer 

From  the  throne  of  God  ! 


#lRb 


